


Smokescreen

by Drbwho



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:12:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 23,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drbwho/pseuds/Drbwho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alayne Stone moves to a small town, trying to make a new life for herself.<br/>A frightened girl showing up on her doorstep in need of help complicates matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> it's too late in the day  
> to tell me i'm off the path  
> we're already in the aftermath

Alayne pulled the ancient, powder blue car up to the small house. It halted with a sputter; she knew it wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Not quite packed to the brim with all of her not-so worldly possessions, it was the last stop the vehicle would need to make. Buying a new one in her new town was essential anyway.

She opened the creaking driver side door, giving it a firm push as she stepped out and scanned the house. Small and white, it looked cozy with a large window in the front and a dark blue door. A tiny but well-kept front yard featured a garden with red and purple flowers.

_This can be good. I can make this good._

Her personal mantra, becoming easier and easier to say the farther she fled.

A bead of sweat was in her periphery, caught just before it threatened her vision. It was hot, much too hot for her taste. Her thick brown hair was tied back into a long, winding braid damp with the heat. The car didn’t have air conditioning. Not that she’d needed it where she was from. At home the mornings were still crisp with iced-over dew and the days were cloudy and cool. She had traded her long sleeve cotton tops with sleeveless options and dresses days ago.

She heard a rustling in the car behind her followed by a whimper. Her dog Lady jumped out, scrambling toward the green lawn and smelling the patch of flowers. _At least she’ll like it here_. Lady had hated the city, with no room to run or play, walks confined to parks of a concrete type. “You like the house, Lady? You’d better, because it’s home now.” She followed the dog, giving her a playful scratch behind her ear. “I wonder what kind of little animals you’ll get to chase.” The Siberian husky gave a bark in reply, trotting off around the side of the building to explore.

The inside of the house was quaint. Further inspection revealed two small bedrooms with simple furnishings, kitchen, living room, bathroom and a small patio in the back where she imagined herself sitting in the evenings, watching Lady play in the fenced-in backyard. There was nothing superfluous, which is just what Alayne had asked for.

The belongings she brought with her, filled the blue beater with, were nothing valuable. Clothes, small side-tables or paintings she liked, a bike fastened to the back. There were no photographs, no unique jewelry, no childhood stuffed animals. She didn’t have them, _couldn’t have them_ , anymore. They weren’t gone, exactly. The girl had an idea that much of her stuff was locked up in a big evidence room, collecting dust.

It took her most of the morning to move what little she had into the house, taking her time, getting to know where everything was. The neighbors on either side weren’t close to the point of suffocating her, but they were near enough for her to know they weren’t home. Monday mornings meant going to work for most people.

_I’ll be most people, soon._

 She had a job lined up at the local police station and was scheduled to start next week. At 22, the woman had her Master’s degree in social work, finishing both high school and college early, almost an expectation in her family. They weren’t happy with her choice in career, and if she was being truthful neither was she, but it seemed like the only choice she had at the time. She wanted to work with troubled kids, wanted to help people. Maybe help someone like her.

The evening came quickly, unusual for someone for had just spent days on the road with nothing but tar and radio shows to keep her company. Sitting on the couch, watching some classic romance movie on her small television she heard a gentle knocking on her door.

The first feeling was panic. The second rationalization. _The people you're running from wouldn't knock. Probably._ Creeping toward the door she still kept her hand in her back pocket, clasping the pocketknife that resided there. Turning the handle she braced, ready to greet or _gut_.  

“Hello, dear! Welcome to the neighborhood!” An older, plump woman with reddish hair and a plate of chocolate chip cookies stood in the doorway, a sociable smile plastered on her powdered face.

The girl relaxed, breath almost a sigh, as she returned the smile, extending her other hand out for a shake. “Hello, I’m Alayne. Alayne Stone.”

She returned the shake daintily. “Oh, wonderful to meet you. I’m Lysa Arryn. I live right next door. I just wanted to be the first to introduce myself, in case you needed anything. You know how it is, with such a small town. You’re big news!”

_Great_. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.” She tried to adopt a genuinely _appreciative_ look. “Is it just you, living there?”

“Oh no. My husband passed not long ago, but my son Robert is still with me. I’m afraid he’s not feeling well today, but I’ll bring him around tomorrow if you’d like. He’s such a sweet boy.”

“That would be lovely.” Alayne had forgotten her manners; the two of them still standing in the doorway. “How rude of me; I didn’t even ask you inside. Would you like some tea?”

“Oh no thank you, my dear. I really must be getting back to my poor Sweetrobin. Do let me know if you need anything.” And with that the woman toddled back across the yard.

Alayne plopped back onto the chair, exhausted. A small town. She’d never lived in a small town. Maybe it would be nice, making friends as close as family, knowing everyone’s names, having them over for dinner.

Watching as they’re beaten, raped, murdered.

What good is family if they’re that easy to lose?


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'cause they know and so do i  
> the high road is hard to find  
> a detour to your new life  
> tell all of your friends goodbye

She woke up on the couch, still half sitting. The twinge in her neck would be a punishing reminder not to do it again. She stood, tilting her neck to either side to assess just how much she was going to regret her sleeping arrangement. Once she stretched a bit she looked around for Lady, rubbing her bare shoulders to make herself a little warmer. The air conditioner worked, then. Even if it was sweltering outside, she could keep it cold indoors. _Like home._

She found Lady snuggled up on the bed she neglected, head bobbing up as soon as she entered the room. The canine was unexpectedly taken with the girl, much to Alayne’s delight. Their companionship spanned only a few months so far, bred out of necessity; the dog had saved her life. She had never been very good with pets. Her sister was the one bringing home strays all the time…

She felt her stomach rumble; when did she eat last? Maybe taking the dog for a walk to get some breakfast would give her a chance to check out her new surroundings. Assuming the temperature would still be balmy even in the morning hours, she took a quick shower and put on a yellow knee-length sundress with tan sandals. She loved having her hair down usually, but braiding her hair back again seemed like the best idea for the weather. Looking to the mirror before she called Lady, she frowned at the reflection.

_This is not you._

This wasn’t helping, this nagging in the back of her mind. Optimism wasn’t something she had in great quantities anymore, but she could still _try_. With a deep breath she called for her companion and set foot toward the town center.

The congregation of buildings was even tinier than she’d thought. Only the bare necessities were present: a small bakery and diner, post office, grocery store and pharmacy. A small school and church were on the outskirts of the heart of it. No police station in sight however, she noted. The rest was left out, assuming that the drive to the nearest city (approximately an hour away) would be made by the locals to attend to anything else they needed.

Tying her dog to a pole as she stopped inside the bakery for a pastry, she noticed that every eye was fixed on her entrance. The man behind the counter, the few people scattered among the tables were all staring at her as she scanned the baked goods. She inwardly mused if Lysa had been here this morning, chatting about the new neighbor she’d met.

“You must be Alayne.” The man by the register told her. He was tall, old enough to be her grandfather, with a stern but not frightening face. She wasn’t sure if he really wanted to chat or if he just expected her to order something.

“Yeah, that’s me. Word really does travel fast…can I get one of those lemon bars?” An amiable grin was broadcasted on her face. _It won’t do any good to make yourself seem rude on your first day here._

“Sure. To go? I’m Rodrik I run the bakery, have for 50 years.” He was all business as he spoke, moving to grab the dessert with wax paper, placing it in a paper bag for her.

“Nice to meet you. Hey, would you be able to point out where the police station is? I start there next week…I didn’t see it on my way in.”

“Just up the street a little ways, about a half mile. You can’t miss it, it’s the newest building we have. Nicest, too.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it. How much for the lemon bar?” Reaching into her pocket, the man waved her off before she could produce any cash. “It’s on me. Welcome to the Eyrie.”

 

After picking up some groceries Alayne and Lady walked the short trail back to the house. Once she had unpacked the produce and browsed the bland cream-colored walls in the kitchen ( _God, I wish they had a paint store here_ ), she decided to take her bicycle out to find the station.

The bike was of the few personal things she was able to take with her. Bright red with a little basket on the front, it probably looked childish to most people. She had never really had a chance to ride it; big city living wasn’t conducive to riding a bike for leisure. Plus, she had _drivers_ for that sort of thing. _Was I really such a brat?_

She kept it painted, though, adding a new red coat with each year that passed. Her dad would help, sitting next to her and making sure she didn’t miss anything. It had been a gift from him when she turned 16. It was a nostalgic present, a reminder of when she was younger, before they moved to the big heartless city, when she would go on rides with her dad through the countryside. With so many siblings she rarely spent time in either parent’s company alone. Bike riding was _theirs alone_.

She unfastened the bike from the car, checking the tires to make sure they hadn’t flattened, and adjusted her dress so it wouldn’t blow up. She then began to pedal unhurried back into the town. Receiving a head nod from Rodrik in the bakery window as she passed, she waved back earnestly. Feeling the breeze she made by gliding on the street was a refreshing change from the humid air she was already sick of. She worked her way upward, an elevation toward one of the higher peaks of the town. The Eyrie sat high in comparison to the surrounding villages, looming over them. From the sloping vantage point she could see green for miles.

She neared the police station, or what _had to be_ the station, shortly. It looked state of the art, modern and expensive, such a contrast to the settlement just below. Square in shape and with endless windows, it looked completely out of place with the expanse of trees in the background. A small sign was set across the automatic door entrance: RIVERLANDS POLICE, EYRIE STATION.

Setting her bike to the side she approached the structure tentatively. A NEED HELP button was just to the left, with a small camera above it. Pressing it, she caused a loud beeping noise to sound, followed by a man’s voice.

“What do you need?” Said the speaker under the button.

“My name’s Alayne. I’m a social worker, I’ll be starting here next week and-“

“Okay, come on in.” The man didn’t wait for her to finish, buzzing her in without another word. 


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bleaching your teeth  
> smiling flash  
> talking trash, under your breath

Compared to the quaint town below, the station was bustling. Alayne estimated at least one hundred people were in the building, easily twice as many as the population of her new home. The design was mostly black and white; the walls simple, clean and unadorned. Cool air swept in from the vents, keeping the building chilled, much to Alayne’s relief. This was the closest thing to her city home she’d seen in a hundred miles, a colossus juxtaposed in the middle of locally owned shops.

“It’s not just for the Eyrie, you know. This unit covers the whole jurisdiction of the Riverlands.” An older man said to her side. He was dressed in a blue police uniform, gun and radio in his holster. She glanced down to the sewn-in name on his shirt-ROYCE.

“Thanks. I was wondering why they would need so many policemen up here…”

“Yeah, we get that look a lot from people who aren’t familiar; the building is fairly new. I’m Nestor. And you’re the new social worker…Miss Stone, right?” He seemed friendly enough, she decided, with a kind demeanor.

“Alayne, please. I just wanted to find my way around so I’d be ready for Monday.”

The man nodded. “I’m sure that would be fine. We just have to run it by the boss if you don’t mind. He’s picky about who we let in here.”

“Of course. Lead the way.”

Taking the immaculate elevator up to the second floor, Royce brought her past the main conference room and to a large door at the end of the hall with just the words CHIEF OF POLICE on the wood. As soon as he made to knock on it however, a static noise sounded from his belt, followed by a voice reciting a series of numbers that Alayne couldn’t make out.

The man groaned in annoyance, backing away from her quickly. “Sorry, Miss Stone, I need to be somewhere. Go ahead and go in, let him know you just want to look around. If you need anything at all, my daughter Myranda is the front desk secretary, she’ll help you out. It was nice to meet you.”

“Wait-“ She didn’t bother finishing; the man was already almost out of sight. Turning back to the door she twisted the handle, walking in unannounced.

The office was really no bigger than the others she’d passed. A simple desk with some chairs centered the room, along with a large window with a backdrop of the forest and some plaques on the walls. A pile of boxes in the corner of the room indicated this may have been a recent move, or that the chief was just messy.

The man working behind the desk was not quite dressed for the weather, nor was he in uniform. He wore a gray blazer and slacks, badge hanging around his neck casually. His brown hair was neat, cut short with gray patching on the sides. He was reading the local paper instead of acknowledging her.

A clear of the throat on her part seemed to catch his attention.  

“Alayne Stone, is it?” He said, one eyebrow rose as he looked up from the newspaper. His eyes were green, sharp and calculating. Alayne had seen those types of eyes before; she’d fled from them.

“Yes, sir.”

“My name is Petyr Baelish, the chief here. Most people knock before entering.”

“Pleasure to meet you, and sorry; I was just a bit nervous..” With the tone she gave, it almost seemed like she actually meant it. In reality, she wasn’t so sure. The man, _that glare_ , already left a bad taste in her mouth. A nagging in the back of her mind told her that something was familiar about him. Something that reminded her of _lions._  

 “What do you need? You don’t start until next week.”

“I know, Mr. Baelish. I just wanted to get a feel for the place beforehand. Take a look around, see my office, meet the staff.”

He nodded, grabbed the phone and dialed a series of numbers. “Yeah, Ros. Get Harry; have him show this new girl around. Thanks.” Without another reply, the chief went back to reading. Alayne stood there in the room with him, feeling stupid for about thirty seconds, until a knock on the door startled her.

“Come in,” was all the man said.

A man, a kid really, entered the room, this one in a blue uniform more close to police officer attire. He was tall with sun-bleached hair and keen eyes, staring at the two of them, awaiting orders.

“This is Miss Stone, give her a tour, will you?”

“Right away, sir.” Harry was certainly eager to please as he extended an arm cordially to her. “Miss Stone, would you follow me?”

“Yes, thank you, Harry.” She turned back to the chief. “And thank you, Mr. Baelish.” She tried not to let any irritation slip out as she spoke, picking up a business card from a side table on the way out.

Petyr Baelish looked up again, finally. Skimming her dress and sandals he added, “oh, and wear something a bit more professional next week.”

She turned away just in time, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her embarrassed and annoyed blush.

 

Harry was nothing if not thorough. By the end of the day she had seen every inch of the department, from conference room to supply closet. Her own office was on the second floor, comfortable looking. The other social worker had left months ago, and she was warned that the position has a history of not staying filled.

“I dunno what it is…no one keeps the job for long.” Harry explained.

“Well, I hope I’ll be able to change that.” Growing up where she did, with the family she had, she had excelled at knowing just how to respond to people. Faking courtesy was armor for her, getting her through a myriad of dinner parties and other engagements. 

Politely declining a dinner offer she rode her bike back to the house through the start of a drizzling rain, making it there just as it began to pour. Lady greeted her enthusiastically as she walked into the bathroom to wring out her damp hair.

“Are you hungry, girl? Let’s get us something to eat.” Hair acceptably dry, Alayne began to dig around in the kitchen, grabbing some dog food on the way. Just as she was filling an expectant canine’s bowl she heard a knock at her door.

 _Probably Lysa again._   She had yet to introduce her to the son she’d mentioned. But still, her heart rate rose at the thought of an intruder. Diaphoretic palms make their way to clutch the handle as she peered out of the small widow, seeing a smallish figure on the other side. _I can’t be afraid every time someone shows up at my door._ Resolved, she creaked it open.

The first thing she noticed were the girl’s brown eyes, large and sad with an ugly purpling to the right one. The color in her eyes almost perfectly matched her hair, or what she assumed her hair looked like dry and clean. She appeared shorter than Alayne, small in frame and probably in her mid-teens. Her clothes looked tattered, as if she’d been on the run. She was soaking wet, shivering despite the warm rain. She knew it wasn’t the dampness causing the girl to tremble anyway; she looked frightened. Alayne found herself unable to tell the rain on her face apart from her tears.

“Are you okay?” Alayne asked the girl, reaching out with warily to touch her shoulder. _Of course she isn’t._ Regardless of how she looked, the girl nodded.

“Do you need to go to a hospital?” Her training began to kick in then, emergency medical attention first, questions could wait.

She shook her head, eyes moving to where her shoulder was being gripped.

Alayne let go immediately, instead holding the door open to her. “Come inside, let’s get you dry.“


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you'd better make for the oxygen tent  
> and try to sleep with one eye open  
> 'cause they have ways to divert your attention  
> they have ways to disguise the intention

The girl was guided inside without issue and into the bathroom. Alayne grabbed a towel and handed it to her. “Stay here for a minute; I’ll get you some dry clothes. She stepped into her room to grab one of her own t-shirts and sweatpants. Alayne was slim but long of limb; the girl would be swimming in the bottoms. Stopping by the closet to secure a plastic bag for her wet garments she joined the girl again, pressing the clean clothes and the bag in her arms after her hair was no longer dripping.  
“I’d like you to put your things in this bag.” Protocol would insist her things were collected as potential evidence and not cleaned. “You can wear these for now. Would you like anything to eat? I was just about to make something.”

The girl’s eyes widened as she nodded. _When’s the last time you ate?_ Alayne left her to herself as she started to boil some water in the kitchen. Dozens of questions passed through her mind. She was ready to sit the girl down and demand answers. _No. Keep it simple, let her talk when’s she’s ready._ The hardest part of her job was being patient.  By the time the girl had dried off and changed the pasta was nearly done. She met her in the kitchen, pants rolled up at the ends, with the bag of clothes in her hand.

“I know those are a bit long, are they fitting well enough?” Alayne looked to the rolled sweats.

“No..no they’re fine. Thank you.” They girl was timid sounding, her soft voice barely audible. Now that her hair was dried and brushed and the tears were gone Alayne noticed how pretty she was, and how horrible the bruised face looked in contrast.

“Good. Well, have a seat, I’ll bring you a plate in a minute.” The woman nodded toward the table.

They ate in silence. The girl wouldn’t have been able to get a word out anyway; the food in front of her was inhaled without breath. Alayne happily provided a second plate, pleased to provide some sort of comfort to her. In the kitchen, washing her dishes she contemplated what had happened. Now the question was what to do next. Should she let her stay there and wait until morning, or contact someone now? Lost in thought she hadn’t noticed the girl staring at her.

“Would you like anything else? Some tea, maybe?”

“Yes, thank you. I like tea.” The girl was certainly less terrified, but Alayne wasn’t sure how far her luck would go in a interview.

“Okay, I’ll put the kettle on.” _Let's give this a try._  “My name’s Alayne, by the way. I’m not sure if you knew.”

“I knew. That’s why I came here. Alayne Stone.”

She smiled at the girl. “You’re right. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name but I don’t know yours.”

The girl wrapped her arms around her waist, looking down into her lap. “I’m no one.”

“Everyone is someone. I just want to be able to call you by name.” There was no pressure in her voice. She kept the tone light.

“Okay well…” The girl started, seeming puzzled. “My name is…Arya.”

Alayne dropped the glass she’d been washing, appearing to not notice the shattering noises below her as it crashed to the floor. “What?” Whispered.

“Arya. Stark. I think.”

“No.” She gasped. How many seconds had it been since she’d taken a breath? “You’re not. Where did you hear that name?”

Any relief the girl had gained from being somewhere safe was now lost. Quaking, she slammed her eyes shut.

 _She’s confused, there’s more to this story. Remain calm._ Alayne moved to collect some of the larger shards of glass on the floor before making it over to the girl. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I just-that name reminded me of something. I’m not going to hurt you.” _Not like they hurt the real Arya Stark._ “You are safe here, with me.”

Kettle whistling in the background now, the girl relaxed again.

“Okay. Good. Now, I’m going to make you a cup of tea, and then I’m going to make a quick phone call, okay?”

 

The cell phone she had was new, purchased on the second day she’d left the city from a retail phone chain. Just in case, she’d reasoned _. What if I get into trouble or an accident on the road_? Initially she didn’t want a phone at all, seeing it as a temptation. They had told her she needed a clean break; no calls would be made to or from her past life. She didn’t have anyone left to call anyway. The only ones who would want to call her wanted her dead.

She was thankful for it now, rummaging through one of her dressers and picking up the smartphone, glad she’d had the forethought to keep it charged. Reaching into her purse for the business card and entering the number listed there she prayed she’d get an answer.

A groggy sounding man answered the phone, muttering “what?” before the girl paused. How late was it now? Ten, according to the wall clock. Where had the time gone?

“Look, I’m really sorry to bother you, I didn’t realize how late it was…but I don’t know who else to call.”

“Who is this?” A hesitation before-“Stone? Where did you get this number?”

“Yeah it’s me. I took a business card. I have a girl here, I think something bad happened to her. She’s been hurt.”

The voice on the phone sounded more awake now, impatience prevailing over fatigue. “Okay, so where did she come from?”

“I don’t know. She won’t say; she just showed up on my doorstep.”

“You didn’t let her leave, did, you? What’s her name?” The police chief was in business mode, sounding urgent as she heard doors opening and closing in the background.

“Of course not. She’s on the couch.” A side-glance through the hallway confirmed her sitting form, a cup of tea warming her hands. “She won’t give a name….well, she won’t give her _real_ name.”

A deep sigh. Rustling noises coming from the other end. “Alright, I’m on my way. Gimme a few minutes.”

“Don’t you want my address?” She asked, but he had already ended the call. 


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you've been living awhile in the front of my skull, making orders.  
> you've been writing me rules, shrinking maps, redrawing borders

It took less than five minutes to hear a car pull into her driveway. From her room she could see he chose not to put the flashing lights on. _Good, that’ll keep her calm._ She made it to the door before he could knock, letting him in wordlessly. 

He looked awake, but it was clear she’d woken him from slumber. His neat hair was in disarray, eyes still somewhat cloudy with sleep. He hid it well; a necessary trait for someone who would need to be ready on a moment’s notice.

Alayne gestured toward the living room where the girl sat before he could form a question. Looking at the girl, there was an unmistakable recognition in his eyes as he crept toward her. “Jeyne? Is that you?”

At the name, the girl looked up, fear in her eyes again. The cup in her hand was unsteady, liquid spilling out of the top as she spoke. “No. No, not Jeyne. They told me not Jeyne. Never Jeyne.” The words came tumbling out over and over. Alayne moved away from the man, kneeling down to her and steadying her hands with her own grip.

“It’s okay. Remember what I said? You’re safe.”

“Safe.” The girl repeated, meeting Alayne’s gaze.

“She’s been missing for months. We need to call her parents.” The chief said from behind, pulling out his phone and walking into the next room.

 

When her parents showed up with several other officers, Alayne knew she must be Jeyne. She ran to her mother, not letting her go until her father insisted they go home.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Poole, Mrs. Poole, but she’ll have to go to the station first. We want to get a few samples from her, and get a medical clearance. We only have a brief window of time for some of these tests.” Petyr Baelish spoke casually, as if the girl had been missing for a few hours, not months. The family cooperated anyway, much to her surprise. _They must really trust their chief._

As Alayne made to leave with the rest of them she was stopped by the apathetic man. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going with them. She came looking for me, sir. She knew my name and where I live.” _And she used my dead sister’s name._

“So? You’re not on the clock yet. You can get into this mess on Monday.”

“What?” Alayne stood there, an incredulous look on her face. “Absolutely not. I’m the one who called you. You never would have known!”

“And I _appreciate_ that.” A mocking grin on his face. He was enjoying this.

“I’m involved. You can't stop me.” She was unmoving now, blocking his way out. He let out a puff of breath.

 “Look, come in tomorrow and we’ll talk about an interview. But for now, stay here. All they’re going to do is get some nail clippings and DNA swabs tonight anyway.”

“Fine, but you’ll let me know it anything changes, right?” Alayne moved out of his way but her tone demanded compliance.

The chief shrugged as he followed the others outside. “Sure. Whatever.”

 

She didn’t sleep that night, keeping her phone next to her in case she was needed. _Who am I kidding? He wouldn’t call me anyway._ Why would they? They didn’t know her. They certainly didn’t trust her. What reason had she given them to, what chance to show herself yet?

She was at the station much earlier than she needed to be, dressed in a lilac blouse and black skirt of _professional_ length. Her murky hair was tied back in a braid, tight and neat this time. Inspection in the morning of her roots told her she’d need to dye it soon. Introducing herself to Myranda Royce, the secretary, she was able to gather the files on Jeyne Poole to get caught up. Myranda was around her age, though shorter and much more busty than her. She was polite just like her father, and insisted on going out for drinks one night.

 _Where? There aren’t any bars here anyway._ Alayne didn’t say, instead nodding politely and agreeing.

Jeyne, as it turned out, was an intelligent high school girl from a nearby town that went missing a couple of months ago. No leads, no missing clothes or belongings, no notice at all. One day she just never came home from school. The search of the forests surrounding the area was ended weeks ago; the few leads that they were able to get indicated she was in the city closest to them, Gulltown. The medical examiner was going to present his findings from the exam the previous night in a briefing scheduled for the afternoon.

 By the time the girl came in with her parents at ten Alayne had been in her new office for hours. Harry came in to let her know, leading her to the conference area next to the interview room where a small group of people were congregated. Mr. Baelish walked in right after her.

“Alright guys, let’s get this business over with.” The chief declared, sounding almost bored.

A man from the group spoke up. “What are we thinking happened?”

“Probably just a runaway. Some teen-girl rebellion phase. Probably bit off more than she could chew in Gulltown and came running home.”

Alayne couldn’t help being stunned by his answer. _You saw her last night. You know it was more than that._ “She looked terrified last night.”

Mr. Baelish looked at her as if she were a bug to be squashed. “Yeah, because she messed up.”

“Then why did she come to me and not to her parents?”

“I dunno, Stone, you tell me.” The way he said it made it clear the topic was closed. _For now_. “Come on, let’s talk to her.” Dismissing the group he grabbed her by the elbow, not gently, and led her to the opposite door.

“You’re coming with me?” She wasn’t used to having an audience when she interviewed.

“Yeah, you said you wanted to talk to her. This is how you’re getting it.” He scanned the hall up and down, no one in the vicinity except for the family behind the closed door. Pinning her against the wall he scowled at her. “Now that we’re alone for a minute, let’s get one thing straight; don’t undermine me in front of my men. You’re here because I allow it, because I owed someone a favor, not because you’re needed.”

Their faces were inches apart, Alayne fought the urge to spit. “Then why not just fire me now?”

Perhaps he expected her to apologize, or look frightened at his reprimand. The look he gave her seemed to be realization that he would get neither from this girl. His grip slightly relaxed, fury slowly being replaced by an entertained expression. “Where would the fun be in that?”

Alayne held his gaze, noticing his eyes weren’t quite green or gray. “So this is fun for you? A game?”

“Something like that. Are you fond of games?”


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you hear me whisper to you  
> i see you recognize my face  
> a familiar pulse  
> calling out from the empty spaces

The chief walked into the interview room first, smiling amiably to Jeyne and her parents. “Thanks for coming in. I know this is hard for you.” Alayne walked in afterward, no evidence between the two that they had just sparred.

Jeyne looked cleaner. Her hair was washed and pulled back into a ponytail, a T-shirt and jeans that were a little baggy but fit her better than Alayne’s. The bruise to her face was still an ugly shade. The constant reminder, a temporary branding. She was more at ease now as well, with her family flanking her on either side. Her mother’s arm was draped over her shoulder as if she didn’t want to let her go.

“How are you feeling today, Jeyne?” Petyr Baelish asked, taking a seat across from them. She followed suit in the seat next to him. They were sitting close together, knees almost touching. A pretense of partnership.

“Better.” She girl responded with a weak smile, looking down at the table.

“You’ve been gone for a long time. Could you tell us where you’ve been? Your parents have been really worried, you know.” It was interesting to the woman how seamlessly he could transfer from an intimidating boss to an understanding cop. _That’s something I could learn from him, at least._

Jeyne didn’t answer, just continued to look down. Alayne noticed her hands had curled into white-knuckled fists at his question.

“Jeyne?” The chief asked again. Alayne nudged his knee with her own, indicating with her eyes the way the girl’s body had tensed. He gave a barely perceptible nod, neither of them speaking as the girl continued to stare.

After a few minutes she looked up at them, a puzzled look on her face. “Jeyne. Jeyne rhymes with pain. I’m not Jeyne.”

Alayne spoke up now. “Then who are you?” The girl was starting to frighten her; a glazed over look to her eyes that couldn’t signal anything positive. She could feel the man next to her tense as well.

“Her. She’s gone, but they made me her. You know her. Not Jeyne.”

“Who?” She asked again, desperation in her voice. _Please don’t say Arya again._

Jeyne smiled sadly. “You know what else rhymes with pain?” She produced a pencil from her pocket, end newly sharpened, showing it to the interviewers as she held it in her right fist. “Alayne rhymes with pain.” With that, she aimed the pencil at the back of her left hand and drove it in.

Petyr lunged over the table, grabbing both the girl’s hands as she struggled to do more damage to herself. “Get some help.” He told Alayne, earning himself a jab with the utensil before prying it away and clutching her bleeding hand. Her father grabbed the other, keeping her still until Alayne could flag down more assistance.

 

Jeyne was restrained for several hours after the incident. Not saying another word; fighting and screaming until she tired herself out. Her parents insisted the social worker not see her, worried she’d become upset again. Alayne understood, convinced she would get a chance the next day.

The medical examiner had quite a bit to say about his exam later that day. He found bruising to arms and legs consistent with abuse as well as belt marks to her back, all in various stages of healing. She refused any further examination, and when asked, did not confirm or deny any sexual assault.

After they deemed Jeyne safe to be released however, the family did not return. Calls by both herself and the investigators were left unanswered. Several days passed, until Friday signaled the end of the week. She’d learned from Harry that a couple of investigators stopped by the house and Jeyne’s father refused to let them speak to her. Petyr Baelish, after hearing about their rejection, dismissed it just as easily. 

Alayne needed to know. How was this girl linked to her previous home? How did she know Arya’s name? Selfishly, she knew the case wasn’t just about getting justice for the girl. It was able getting herself some answers as well.

On Friday afternoon, Myranda stopped by her office. The woman really was making an effort to befriend her, sitting with her for a couple of hours and helping her pour over some other cases while she waited for Jeyne Poole’s family to come around.

“Are you going to the party tonight?” Myranda asked as she highlighted some notes

“What party?”

“Oh right, you wouldn’t have known. They have a party in the conference room every other month. Everyone from the station usually sticks around for it.”

She wasn’t a big drinker, and while her previous self enjoyed parties, she didn’t know how well they would sit with Alayne. “I don’t think so. I’m ready for an early night.”

“No way. You’re getting yourself too worked up about this case. You’re staying...it'll be fun!” Myranda was not the type of girl to take “no” for an answer, she was learning.

“Fine. Just for an hour.”

 

The get-together was actually enjoyable at first. Myranda introduced her to most of the employees she didn’t know. Stories told and retold throughout the night highlighted interesting cases from the past month. Beer, wine, and whiskey flowed freely as the sun began to set.

Alayne was starting to loosen up; Myranda had been diligently keeping her glass full, and eventually the girl had no idea how much she’d actually had to drink. Laughter came easier to her then. Walking became more of a chore, a balancing act, until she turned and found Myranda leaning against an officer.

She’d had too much to drink. She was never a heavy drinker anyway. The whole week, the interview, the conversation with poor Jeyne, her parents...she just wanted to shut it out for a night. And so the drinks kept coming. A few times a stray officer would come up to proposition her, most of them married and all of them uninteresting to Alayne. She would politely decline. What would the town think if they saw her leave on the arm of a married man?

The more she drank the more she reflected, the alcohol opposing the intended effect. She was angry she couldn’t get closer to the truth, she was angry at the person or people who did it, and she was angry at the chief for dismissing the entire crime in front of everyone.

Before she knew it, the last few officers had left, some with women on their arms and some alone, casting last hopeful glances toward her to no avail. Myranda was gone as well, leaving on the arm of the policeman. _And wasn’t she supposed to be my ride home?_ She was still sensible enough to know she wouldn’t make it home on her bike.

Glancing behind the conference room and down the hall she noticed the light was still on to his office. She was far passed the point of sounding or looking sober as she staggered toward it. Not bothering to knock she turned the handle, opening the door without hesitation. 


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want them to hate me  
> i don't feel so far away from you lately  
> love me on the sly

He was still working, typing away at his computer as he looked up, ready to dismiss. Frustration turned to amusement as he assessed her clearly inebriated form. “Alayne. How can I help you? Shouldn’t you be at the party?”

“Everyone’s gone. Why weren’t you there?” She tried her best to see only _one_ of him, but the room was starting to spin.

“I had work to do. Do you need a ride home?” Standing, grabbing his keys and making his way toward her, he actually seemed _kind_ for once. Or at least not _mean_.   

“I can walk.” Defiance in her voice, slightly comical considering her sway. “But first, we have to talk.”

He laughed, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t we talk tomorrow? Or Monday?”

“Nope. We talk…now. To start-why are you such a dick?”

“You’re drunk.”

“That doesn’t make you less of a dick.”

It was clear he was still trying to suppress a smile. “Come on, let’s go.”

Sobering up for an instant, she stilled, unmoving in his maneuvers. “She’s just a girl, _Petyr_.” It felt weird, calling him by his first name. She knew it was unprofessional, but so was insulting her boss while drunk. “She’s just a girl. We have to help her.”

Pressing her toward the door again with more insistence he remained quiet for a few seconds. Finally, “I know” was all he said.

She became more pliable then, allowing herself to be escorted to his police car and into the passenger side. “I don’t need a ride. I can _walk._ ”

“And I have a car, and I haven’t been drinking, so I can _drive_.” His response was mocking, but Alayne was suddenly much too tired to care. Resting her head on the seat she kept her eyes closed, blocking out the blurry vision and stomach that was dangerously close to reintroducing her to her dinner. The drive could have taken hours or minutes; she couldn’t be sure, but her eyes opened at the braking of the car as it pulled into her tiny driveway.

“You’re home.” He remained seating, expecting her to make it out herself. The trouble was, the girl wasn’t sure if she could stand. Not wanting to let him see her fail, she clenched the handle and propelled herself forward as she managed to open the door. One heeled foot pressed firmly onto concrete while the other trailed after.

_There we go. Almost standing now._

Then she stumbled, her blue dress hitching up, causing her knees to hit the ground unforgivingly. An exasperated sigh was heard from behind, as well as an opening and shutting of a car door. Still bent forward, she tried to push herself up with her hands, only to be met with the assistance of his own on her shoulders guiding her upward.

“Don’t you know how to handle your liquor?”

“Never been drunk before…” She managed to sputter out.

“That’s not surprising. _Perfect little Alayne_.” The way he said it could almost have been called endearing. “Come on, I’ll help you.” Moving behind her, he placed a hand on either side of her waist for steadying while she moved to the door. Glancing to the side, to Lysa’s house, she could see the woman through the window, staring at them. A glass of wine in her hand, she extended it toward them, toasting.

“That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” He asked.

“Oh. I must have said it out loud. Didn’t mean to. Nothing, okay?”

She was quick with the lock, to the relief of them both. Lady ran up to greet her, nuzzling into her knee, forcing her off balance. Petyr had her still, but the sway was unexpected and she came falling back into him. His grip tightened on where her waist was narrowest as her spine made contact with this chest. Her hands covered his at her sides for support, attempting to help force herself back up. Balancing them again, he seemed to be losing patience. “Okay, you’re here. Where’s your room.”

“Down that way.” She replied, nodding her head forward.

 

In the room she decided she needed to change. The dress was too constricting and suddenly too warm. Her hands were still covering his, she realized, almost intertwining, almost comfortably. She removed them hastily, stepping forward once to give them a bit more space as she swept her braid to one shoulder. 

“Unzip me.” The girl presented her back to him, kicking her heels off one by one.

“ _What?_ ”

“Come on, just unzip it. I can’t sleep in this.”

One hand moved from her hip to gently pull the zipper down her back. “Where are you nightclothes?” He asked from behind. His voice was much quieter, lacking the mocking tone of before. 

“Right on the bed.”

“Okay, don’t move.” Taking his hands off of her for a moment he retrieved the long shirt from the bed. Then his hands returned to her, one still at her back, the other pressing the top of the dress from her shoulders. She allowed it to slip through her arms and down from her frame. His free hand followed the path the dress made, first along her right arm, then to the side of her torso, a soft, lingering of fingertips. As it slid further down to her hips he stopped, letting it pool to the floor on its own. She couldn't see him, couldn't see what look lived on his face, but she was certain even in her haziness that he could feel the shiver run through her at his touch. _What am I doing?_

It occurred to her that she was naked now, except for a pair of underwear. Her sober self was going to be very upset with her.

“Lift your arms up.” He said nearly soundlessly, guiding the oversized shirt onto her as she did as she was asked. Once she was clothed again she turned around clumsily, darting an arm out to his shoulder to get her bearings.

“Thanks.” She moved to the bed just to her side, pulling back the sheet and sitting down. Making eye contact finally she could see no sign of irritation or amusement left. She thought he had a sadness to his greenish eyes, then.

“Don’t mention it.” He turned to leave.

Oh yes, hangover–in-the-morning Alayne was going to hate her. “Hey, wait.”

“Yeah?” His frame in the doorway, head cocked backward at the sound of her voice.

“Can you…stay? Just for a while if you want.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Even as he said it, he was stepping back to her. 

“I know. I just…I don’t like this feeling.” _I feel out of control. I need a tether. And you’re the only one close enough to pull on._

Resigned by her plea, the man bent forward to unlace his shoes. Removing them along with his holster and jacket he looked to her expectantly. “Well, maybe drinking isn’t your thing. Scoot over then.”

She did, shifting herself to the other end of the bed, making herself a nest of blanket and sheets. He sat down on the mattress, relaxing his back against the headboard and reclining with his eyes closed, not bothering to look at her.

“You can lay down, you know.” Nudging his thigh with her fist, trying to get some sort of emotion out of him.

“I know. Good night, _Alayne_.”

 


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much for make believe, i'm not sold  
> so much of dreams, deceit, i'm not prepared to know

Before she even opened her eyes she knew two things. One, her head was already hurting her, mouth dry and stomach aching in a way that Alayne assumed was familiar to binge drinkers. The second thing she noticed was that she wasn’t alone in the room, or even the bed.

Eyes still closed, she tried to recount the events of the previous day. Much of it was blurred or missing altogether, a haze of colors and broken conversations, but she did remember drunkenly trying to confront her boss. How did she get home?

Her boss.

 _Oh, no_.

He’d driven her, and she’d asked him to stay…

Hesitatingly, she lifted one eye open, prepared for the worst. After a startling burst of pain to her forehead from the morning light she was able to make out the form of the chief still asleep next to her. He had on his shirt and pants, but he was no longer sitting up against the headboard. Instead, he was curled on his side facing her with one arm nestled under his head as a pillow. It couldn’t be said that they were close together, but the girl had him easily within arm’s reach. The ever-present calculating and cold gaze was gone, replaced by a much younger and peaceful appearance. Brow without crease and mouth relaxed, he could even be called handsome looking the way he did now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an abdominal lurching, a reflex, urging her to stand up quickly. Wobbling slightly to get her bearings she sprinted to her bathroom, both hands clasping her mouth in protest. She made it just in time to avoid a mess, deciding after to rest in front of the toilet bowl, prepared for another gag. _God, how do people deal with this?_ It was enough to make her never want to touch a drop of alcohol again.

Several minutes passed and Alayne felt no better, almost resolving to take a nap on the floor next to the sink when she realized he was behind her. Turning around slowly ( _carefully, her stomach remained tender_ ) she noticed he was still foggy from sleep, looking amused down at her. “You really should pace yourself next time. Drink some water, you know?”

“That information would have been more useful last night, thanks.” The talking, thinking of water, made her stomach cramp again as she threw herself back toward the bowl. He was behind her before she could take another breath, holding back the loose strands of her braid from the bile.

“You’ll feel better once it’s all out of you system. After that, stay in bed and drink at least a few glasses of water. Trust me.”

“Do this often?” Despite his helpfulness, she was still angry with the man.

“No…I had an ex. She liked the sauce.” He was trying to sound nonchalant, but Alayne sensed a touch of something else. Bitterness? She thought there was probably a great deal he was bitter about, with the way he acted.

“Oh.” She stayed silent for a minute, allowing her stomach to settle. Convinced she was finished, she sat back, wiping her face with a piece of toilet paper before looking up at him. “Thanks.”

He let go of her hair, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Like I said last night; don’t mention it. I’m going to go, as long as you’re fine now. I have to finish up some paperwork.”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m okay.”

“If you still want to have a talk, now that you’re _sober_ , we can talk.”

“Yeah, I mean, yes. I do.”

“You free today? Rodrik’s for lunch? I’ll buy.”

Alayne just nodded, following his form as he moved away.

As he walked out of the bathroom he turned to her from the hall. “By the way, your roots are starting to show.”

Her entire body tensed until she heard the front door open and close, followed by the sound of an engine starting. Was the man just perceptive, or was the comment of her dyed hair indicating a knowledge he shouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , have? She was a thousand miles and several months away from anyone who would have known her true hair coloring.

Turning on the nozzle to the shower and removing her shirt and underwear, she contemplated picking up her few belongings and leaving. No one would miss her, really. No one knew her yet. Except Jeyne. Jeyne, with parents that wouldn’t let her speak and knew her sister’s name. If she picked up and left she was certain Baelish would drop the case altogether; let her parents continue to refuse an interview and let the bruises on her heal, the scars fade without justice being served. Without answers that Alayne was desperate for.

She crept into the shower, letting the water wash off the smell of liquor and vomit. Washing her hair, she thought about running into the city to get a few extra bottles of coloring. She only had one box of dye under the sink, and the town had at least one _observant_ person. After she finished she would dry her hair and touch up her roots before seeing him later.

 _Him_.

She vaguely remembered him unzipping her dress, his touch on her side. She hadn’t encouraged it, nor had she pushed him away. If she were honest with herself, a rare thing for someone who carried so many lies, she would admit it had felt good. Despite how much she hated the way he acted, and that it was already complicating everything. Being alone for as long as she had been, with no one but a dog as a companion, was becoming difficult.

Sinking down into the shower until she was sitting, she decided that she wouldn’t be thinking about him at all if she had friends or family near. She would have had someone to call for a ride home, someone to help her undress. He was a poor substitute, and one who seemed to know more than he was letting on.

She couldn’t be sure how long she sat in the water, but by the time she removed herself from the tub her fingers were pruned and the contents were well below her body temperature, dragging occasional shivers from her. She enjoyed the cold; as a child she was always the first one outside in the morning after a fresh snow had fallen, oftentimes staying outdoors until her mother pulled her unwillingly inside, insisting she have a mug of hot cocoa to warm her up. Why they chose this locale for her to live she didn’t know, her only regret was not requesting some place which had weather changes beyond hot and scorching.

She allowed herself one more thought as she wrapped the towel around herself; even if she could trust him, did she want to?


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you realise this isn't a game  
> you know the price, so pay up,  
> or your life could be chaos.

The dye was applied without complication; Alayne had perfected touch ups, even able to apply the liquid in the back of a car on the side of a highway. Readying herself for a meeting she wasn’t really prepared for, she stepped out of her front doorway. Her bike was still at the station, so walking was her only option. As she left her yard and veered in the direction of town, she heard Lysa’s door open and shut from behind her.

Turning, she was already nearly face-to-face with a small, pallid and thin boy of about seven or eight. His clothes appeared brand new but large for a child so tiny in frame. He had neatly trimmed dark hair and a concerned expression on his face.

“Oh, hello. You must be Robert. Your mom told me all about you.”

“Yeah, that’s me. You’re Alayne.” The boy did have a sickly appearance, dry lips and a gait that seemed to want to fail him at any given moment.

“That’s me.”

“Where are you going?”

 "I’m on my way to meet someone right now.” Alayne wondered inwardly if the boy had many friends. She knew how it felt to feel isolated.

“Oh.” Eyes cast downward, Robert began to retreat.

 “…but if you want to stop by later maybe we can make some cookies. What do you think?” She felt bad for him, oddly, considering she didn’t know him at all. She started to walk away, satisfied with the compromise.

“Who are you meeting?” He followed her a few steps, clearly not understanding her attempt to end the dialogue.

“Just a…friend.” _Was he?_ Not really.

“It is Mr. Baelish?”

Alayne stopped again, giving her full attention to the boy. “How did you know?”

“Mom saw him leave your house this morning. She got real mad about it.”

“Why was she mad?”

“I don’t know. He used to come over a lot, but he doesn’t now.”

_I guess seeing her at the window wasn’t a drunken dream, then._

“I see. Well, he’s my boss. We have to talk about a case.”

“Oh! Can you tell me about it tonight?”

“Sure. I’ll see you then, okay?” She was sure the boy could be sufficiently distracted later with cookies. No details, no true ones at least, would be revealed.

 

Alayne was certain the building contained every resident of the town that Saturday afternoon. Every seat was taken, save the one across from Petyr Baelish. He had clearly cleaned up; no longer in his work attire. The man had on a gray cotton shirt and slacks. His holster was around his lean torso, the only indicator that he was an officer.

He was speaking with a local she hadn’t met before, a middle-aged man with a large build but soft eyes. Alayne approached, careful not to interrupt. The chief was laughing, had she actually seen a true laugh from him? Eyes leaving the older man, his locked on her own.

“Ah, Alayne, glad you could make it. Have you met Lothor yet? He’s a security guard at the station.”

She smiled and extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“You didn’t tell me she was such a beauty, Baelish.” Lother returned the gesture amiably, giving her a wink.

“That’s because she doesn’t need louts like you going after her.”

“You hurt me, Baelish.” The man feigned offense. “I’d better go, I don’t want to impose. Thanks again, sir. I owe you.”

Petyr’s genial gaze turned stern, just for an instant, just enough for Alayne to see. “Yes. You do. Take care.”

 

As the man walked away Petyr nodded to the chair, encouraging her to take a seat. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks.” _How do I even begin this conversation?_

As it turned out, she didn’t need to. Petyr leaned forward slightly, looking toward the hair. “I see you took care of that..issue.”

“Yeah. I have to ask-“

He put a hand up. “Not here. Let’s grab a quick bite, and then we’ll go somewhere less…crowded.”

She picked at the food as residents came over and spoke to the pair. Apparently, Baelish was well-liked by the town, almost everyone passing by stopped to have a word with him. “I grew up here. Moved away for awhile, just came back not too long ago. I guess no one really forgets you in a town like this.” He explained.

“Why did you leave?” She asked, not sure if she was curious or not, idly picking apart pieces of a croissant.

“Business.” Before she could inquire further, another person approached, this one interested in _Alayne Stone_ , the new girl.

After the bill was paid, the man led them across the small street and toward the woods behind the town square. There was a trail marked ahead, Alayne saw, and she tensed. _Did he really think she was that stupid? Going into the woods alone with him?_

“There’s a path up this way. We can talk where we won’t be overheard.” He nodded toward the forest.

Alayne looked around. They were still able to be viewed from the street, but not close enough to be heard. She stopped, shaking her head. “I think we’re fine here.”

A corner of his mouth tilted upward. He moved closer to her until his lips were inches from her ear. “Clever girl. I guess I expected nothing less…from Cat’s daughter.”

“What?” Her response was louder than she’d intended. The dizziness and headache from the hangover were nothing compared to the disorientation she was feeling at his knowledge. A man walking along the sidewalk not too far from them looked in their direction.

“ _Quiet._ I assume you’re trying to keep it a secret? It’s dangerous to keep them in this town; someone is bound to find out. You already know it's not safe to be a Stark right now.” He was still close, closer than two people having a conversation about _work_ would have been. He placed a hand gently on her waist, stabilizing her, bringing her slightly closer. There was no threat in his eyes, just the now-familiar mocking smirk.

“What are you doing? How did you know?” Her heart was racing, her stomach sinking. One week, _one week and my cover is blown…_

Her contingency plans for being found were very specific, and none of them involved the man in front of her. Still, curiosity was getting the better of her, mixed with the warm feeling of his hand at the small of her waist.

“They’re watching us, the town. Don’t look so distressed. Smile, smile at me, _now_.” Still whispering, he pulled back slightly so that eyes connected.

“Are we giving them a show?” The anger and questioning in her voice was apparent, even as she spoke through a falsified, bashful smile. Alayne could play this game, if only to get answers.

He swept his free set of fingers through her hair, nodding. “If they think we’re _seeing each other_ they won’t be as suspicious of us spending time together.”

“And why are we going to be spending time together?” So many questions, it seemed as good a place to start as any. Countering his movements, she pressed one hand to his shoulder as she tiled into his hand at her temple.

“I’m going to help you. With the case, with your problems.” He moved in closer, a simulated nervous grin on his face that contradicted the confidence in his voice. He bent forward, pulling her flush as he placed a soft kiss to a questioning mouth. Her lips responded almost of impulse ( _certainly not out of desire_ ) for a moment, pressing toward him. His hand dug a little into her side, just for an instant, before he pulled his lips from hers. “Very convincing, Alayne.”

She tried to conceal the flush of her cheeks as she continued, glancing toward the town. A passerby had stopped to stare at the two. “Why do you want to help me?”

He gave the same fake-wounded look Lothor had presented earlier. “Don’t you trust me?”

Alayne scoffed. “Not at all.”

He unhanded her, leading her back toward the buildings and the probable gossip that had already begum. “Good.” 


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you part the waters,  
> the same ones that i'm drowning in.  
> you lead your casual slaughters,  
> and i'm the one who helps you win.

They’d parted shortly after, Alayne stopping to grab ingredients on the way back to her house. Petyr told her he’d pick her up early the next day to attempt to plead with the Poole family. It had been several days since they’d let anyone speak to Jeyne, and Alayne was growing more and more worried.

The car ride alone would also afford her time to interrogate him. She was sure by now the rumor had spread like wildfire; the new social worker tangled with the older police chief. And how much older was he anyway? She knew virtually nothing about him, while he could write a book about her it seemed.

Robert stopped by almost directly after she made it through her doorway, eager to have someone to talk to. She obliged, taking the role of preparing the dessert herself while he watched and told her about his day. Lysa was an exhaustively protective mother it seemed, barely letting him leave his own front yard. She was surprised the woman even let him enter her home without being present.

“How was your meeting?” He asked her, licking the batter off of a stray spoon.

“It was okay, nothing too exciting.” She paused, trying to recall another story to deflect him from asking about the case.

“Oh.” He paused for a second. “Are you guys _dating_?” Whispering the words, he spoke as if it here a scandal. _Maybe it was._

A small tilt of the mouth in amusement. Maybe this was a demonstration by Petyr Baelish for her benefit. A single kiss along the forest line and every stay-at-home eight-year-old would be informed within an hour. “I don’t know. I guess so.” Was it her job to perpetuate the lie? She found herself strangely unbothered by the fabrication. She’d become so used to lying that no effort on her part needed to be made anymore.

“I think he dates a lot of people. He dated my mom before…why don’t we go out instead?” The boy rattled on nonchalantly, setting the spoon on the table, now free of batter.

Does he? Did he? News to Alayne, although virtually everything was. “Maybe when you’re a little bit older. But I’d like to be your friend…what do you think?” Maybe having Sweetrobin around wouldn’t be so bad; the boy had a lot of knowledge about the town and its inhabitants.

“That’s okay for now, then.” He decided.

Before the cookies were baked they heard the harsh voice of the boy’s mother calling him home. Robert sighed. “I guess I gotta go.”

“How about I drop the cookies by later?”

 

Petyr picked her up the next day before noon. Technically she wasn’t even supposed to be working until Monday morning, but she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to speak with Jeyne again. Choosing a black skirt and a simple white sleeveless blouse, she decided against heels. She kept her hair loose, trying to look professional without appearing as if she were headed to work.

This time he didn’t need to visualize a drunk girl falling to get out of his car and meet her at the door. Meeting him on the front threshold he immediately wrapped an arm around her waist, “Lysa’s watching…” mumbled into her ear. She felt the tiny hairs on her neck stand up as he nuzzled there briefly.

Rapidly glancing to the side she noticed the woman was indeed staring at them, quite deliberately, in pretense of getting the newspaper. Alayne placed a dutiful kiss to his cheek in greeting, then turned to Lysa. “Good morning, Lysa. How’s Robert?”

“Fine.” The woman’s tone was severe, venom dripping from the word.  She moved her eyes to the man with his arm around her. “And how are you, Petyr? Trying out a _newer, younger model?”_

“Something like that.” His face was a mask, no emotion shown to the accuser as he led Alayne to the car and opened the passenger door for her, seeing her in. Before the door was completely shut she heard the woman call to him. “Make sure you get her back before curfew!”

As soon as he joined her in the car he put a hand in his face, letting out a deep sigh.

“Maybe you shouldn’t flaunt your _new relationship_ to an ex-girlfriend.” Although Alayne had trouble believing she actually _was_ an old flame.

“It’s not my fault you live next to her. Be careful with her, Alayne. She’s not stable. After her husband died she kind of lost it.”

She didn’t need him to tell her that.

Beginning to drive down the mountainside and toward the next town, Alayne began the conversation. “Robert asked about us last night. Word travels fast.”

Petyr didn’t respond, but she saw a slight smirk form as he kept his eyes glued to the road, one hand casually on the wheel, the other on the armrest.

“How did you know my mother?” She asked quietly. No answer. “Petyr?” _I guess I can call him that now._

When he spoke, it was quietly, ponderingly. “Do you know where she lived? Before the city? Did she tell you?” The road continued to be more fascinating to him than the girl.

“No…she never really talked about it.” Odd now, that she reflected. She knew all about her father’s childhood, down to his favorite park as a kid. She knew nothing about where her mother was raised.

“Here. It was here. She and her sister and brothers.”

“She doesn’t have a sister. She just has two brothers. And she wasn’t born here, she would have said.” The opposition in her tone was cutting. “I don’t believe you.”

Petyr laughed. “Okay, don’t. But we were friends, your mom and I, since we were little. If you really don’t believe me I have pictures.”

“Okay. Show me after.”

“Or you could just ask her sister. But I don’t think she’d be happy to know who you are.” The smirk grew wider.

“Petyr. She doesn’t have a sister. She would have told us.” _There was no way…_

 “They haven’t talked in years; they had a huge argument when they were both teenagers, right before Cat left. Never spoke again, even at their father’s funeral.”

“I still don’t buy it.”

“Ask your neighbor, then.”

She paused, stomach dropping. “ _No_.”

He turned to glance at her, pleased with the disbelief on her face. “ _Yes. Lysa_. Aunt Lysa to you, I guess.”


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so we're falling as we run for cover from the bombs we're setting off.

Alayne tried to wrap her head around the news; she wasn’t sure if she believed him anyway. They reached their intended destination without much more conversation after that. The home was fairly secluded, as were most houses in the area; scattered around the town center and connected with small, unoccupied roads. The Pooles let them into the abode with some hesitance. 

The house would have just looked untidy to a normal observer most likely, but Alayne could pick out potential signs of a struggle. Marks on the floor that indicated furniture recently upturned, a single drop of something ( _dried blood?_ ) on the whitish carpet. Petyr saw it too, staring at the mark with furrowed brow.

“We need to talk to Jeyne. Now.” There was no time for manners, Petyr was demanding, sensing, as the girl did, that something was _wrong_.

“No.” Mrs. Poole trembled out her answer, blocking Petyr’s way to the back hallway toward the bedrooms. “We told you. _No_.”

“Why? We’re trying to help you, help her.” Alayne moved to stand next to Petyr, making it clear they weren’t leaving.

They stood there in opposition for several minutes, until tears began to flow down Mr. Poole’s face and he moved out of the way, letting Petyr through the hall. A few more minutes passed and Petyr returned to the living room with a questioning look on his face. “Where is she?”

“She’s…gone.” Mr. Poole said finally, hopelessly.

“What do you mean, gone?” The chief did not seem to be a man who abided by roundabout answers.

“They…they took her. They told us we’d all be dead if we didn’t let them have her.” Mrs. Poole was shaking. Now that Alayne had a better view she wondered if the woman had eaten or slept in days. She was gaunt and pale, eyes bulging and bloodshot with fatigue.

Petyr grabbed Mrs. Poole by the shoulder, closing in until his face was inches away. His voice was still calm, collected, against the trembling woman. “Was it them again? Was it the little shit or his dad?”

“The…the younger one. Please, Petyr, don’t call it in. They told us…if we called the police…they’d kill her.”

Petyr unhanded her, glancing to the ground thoughtfully. “Okay. No. We’ll deal with this another way. Don’t say anything to anyone else. Tell people she’s visiting an aunt or something. Give me some time.”

 

Petyr pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket as they exited the house, prying one out and bringing it to his lips. Lighting it and taking a long draw of breath in as he headed toward the car, he pulled out his phone and looked to be sending a text.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” She had decided Alayne wasn’t a smoker. Her previous self would have the occasional smoke, only when following suit with her friends, but Alayne would never do that.

“I don’t.” He said as thin white smoke puffed from his mouth.

“You’re not going to tell anyone about this?”

“Nope. And neither are you, got it?” He took another drag, letting the smoke puff out of his nostrils this time.

“Will it help us find her?”

“Alive? Yeah.”

“Are you going to include me?” _Or am I going to be pushed aside?_

“Do you want to be a part of this?”

 _Do I?_ “Yes.” The more time she spent in the town and its surrounding places the more she realized the whole idea of it was a lie. A corrupt county disguised as a wholesome residence, exactly what she was trying to escape with her move. If eluding it is impossible, at least this time around she decided she would be informed.

_Everywhere is the same, in the end._

“Fine.” Dropping the cigarette to the ground he stamped it out with a press of his shoe and got into the car.

 

She was wasn’t sure which emotion was winning out by the time they drove away, Petyr sharply turning onto the main road. She was seething; teeth clenched over the thought of how terrible Jeyne’s parents were. She also believed she’d failed the girl, the feeling of guilt crashing over her in waves. Her hands went to her face, covering it in an attempt to not show him that it was getting to her.

He pulled the car down the next empty side-road, halting it and turning toward her. “We’ll find her, Alayne.” _He seemed so sure._

“How? We’ve got nothing. It’s my fault. I should have pushed them harder before.” Frustration misplaced itself as she looked up from her hands. “ _You_ should have.”

“They were scared. People will do terrible things when they’re threatened. You of all people should know that.” He said it softly, possibly not intending to cause a tightness in her chest, but succeeding anyway. Tears threatened. She didn’t want him to see any sign that she couldn’t handle this, but sitting in his car she had nowhere to go.

“Why does everything have to be terrible?” She felt like a child, sounded like a child as her hand balled into fists and she slammed them down onto her knees.

“ _Stop it_.” He grabbed her arms immediately, fighting her struggling form until she settled, breath coming in uneven heaves. He carefully pulled her arms toward him. “Come here.”

She embraced him over the armrest, pulling him closer with her arms wrapped around his shoulders and face buried in the crook of his neck. One hand supported her forward-bent form at her waist, the other moving to stroke her hair gently. For several long minutes they stilled. His breath was even, but Alayne could feel the pulse at his neck running much faster than he let on. He smelled of smoke still, slightly, but also of mint. Had he put gum in his mouth?

Why was she accepting this man’s embrace? No one was around to broadcast their fake relationship. Still, she pressed further into his form, her mouth settling just below his jaw.

She wanted comfort. _She wanted him._

Did he want her?

Her lips closed in on his neck, first placing dry kissing upward toward his jaw. They grew deeper as she opened her mouth wider with each press, drawing a deep inhalation from him. The hand on her hip tightened. As she made her way further up and met her goal, she nipped at his parted lips, not indulging him with a full meeting. The hand he still had at the back of her neck grew firmer as he tilted forward, meeting her and guiding his tongue into her open mouth. Too eagerly, she accepted it, letting out hum as tongues intertwined.

_What am I doing?_


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> secrets i have held in my heart are harder to hide than i thought  
> maybe i just wanna be yours

Impatient, he broke their connection of mouths and used his hold to pull her up and across the divide. She allowed herself to be molded to straddle him in his seat, the cramped space keeping them close while she rearranged her arms around him. It wasn’t comfortable; her skirt hitched up to mid-thigh, knees dug into the seatbelt and door, but these were feelings that lingered only in the very back of her mind. She was preoccupied with his lips resting on her neck, trailing to collarbone, and his uneven breathing. She felt a warmth, a burning, begin in her lower abdomen that pulsed in time with her elevated heartbeat.

So focused on his mouth and the throbbing she hadn’t noticed his hands slowly lifting her blouse upward, only realizing it when his fingers caressed her waist skin-to-skin. Bringing her hands up, she allowed the garment to lift off of her, leaving only a simple blue bra. As his fingers roamed, elevating a side of her remaining garment to feel a breast, any voice of reason was gone. She was sick of being afraid, being cautious. She pressed into his touch, sighing as he thumbed a hardened nipple, and her fingers traveled downward, grazing his own hardness between them, teasing for a few minutes. He closed his eyes, letting out a quiet moan while a hand unzipped his pants. That seemed to jolt him out of his desire.

“Wait…wait.” He released her and gripped her arm, stopping her movements. Her hands paused, a questioning look on her face only for a second. Her eagerness won out, bending closer, lips meeting his neck again with a gentle but persistent sucking. Her hips pressed forward, into their jointed digits, into his stiffness.

“No waiting.” Alayne spoke into the curve of his neck, slowly grinding into him.

“God, Alayne,” he breathed, bucking up slightly, impulsively. She freed one hand then, able to reach his boxers and hastily guide his cock out. She received another restrained groan for her efforts. “We...we can’t.”

 _Can’t. Won’t._ Things that the girl was tired of hearing. His refusals were dying off now as she continued to stroke him, lifting her skirt to bunch at the waist and bringing him right against her cotton underwear. Instead of protest this time, he gripped her hard, one hand at her hip and the other mid-thoracic, pressing her closer.

A small shift of her underwear was all it took, guiding him to her entrance. Not leaving him a chance to snap back to reality, she sunk down onto him. The wetness coating her center made it easier than she thought, remembered. How long had it been since she’d fucked someone? Years, easily, since the teenage romance that ended her virginity.

It had been so long that it was painfully tight as he lifted his pelvis up to meet her for a complete joining, surrendering to his own need. A strangled cry was muffled into his neck as he projected his own moan outward, retracting from her almost immediately just to push back into her again, creating a quick rhythm.

She pressed as close as was possible, given the awkward arrangement, undulating against him to coax her own pleasure out. It didn’t take long, breath becoming heavier, noisier, as the mixture of his thrusts up and her falling became more urgent. The pain was gone, replaced by an odd feeling of fulfillment. She was close to someone, as close as possible as he filled her over and over. The thought of proximity, of nearness to another, was what brought her over the edge at last, ripples of pleasure building until they burst, causing her to slump forward onto him.

The man under her wasn’t quite finished, but close, desperation in his movements as hers slowed; a few more quick bursts upward and he too let out a groan, lifting them both almost off of the seat completely as she felt a warmth directly in her core.

 _This is new_. Her previous paramour, her only other partner, had used rubbery protection for each bout of intercourse. Having someone finish inside her, uncovered, was altogether uncharted territory.

That train of thought led her to feel instant regret; a condom should have been used. Not only for protection against pregnancy, but any infection the man might have. She barely knew him. Distracted from what should have been a more relaxing end to sex, she continued to lay on top of his as he stilled under her, stroking her hair and continuing to hold her close. He pulled out of her, guiding himself back into his boxers. Her underwear fell back into place, and she could feel his liquid leaking from her, a reminder of a bad decision. Too late to fix it now, she rested in him again, finding a position of some comfort.

Thoughts of whether she should tell him about her lack of birth control were halted as soon as she realized the low whispering of a name from his lips. He was saying her name. Her real name.

“Sansa…”

“You know my name.” _Of course he does; he knew who my mother was._

“Mm hm.” He answered with a nip at her ear.

“Does anyone else know?”

“Not here. But they will if you’re not careful.”

Alayne lifted off of him, grabbing her blouse as she took her own seat again. “How will they know?”

Petyr zipped his pants up, hand moving to the ignition and starting the car. The man still looked neat or organized; no sign at all of what had just transpired. “Do you know why they picked this town for you?”

Blouse back on, her eyes widened at him. He knew an awful lot about her, why wouldn’t he know she didn’t move here of her own accord?

_Why did he know anything?_

“The officer said it was far enough away. He said I’d be safe here.”

Petyr laughed, amused. “It’s a shame really, that you’re so trusting, even after everything. That officer, where do you think his bonus check came from this year?”

Sansa was afraid to guess. Really, she didn’t need to guess; she already knew. “The Lannisters.”

The misery in her voice would have been detectable, and he gently moved a hand to cup her chin, eyes connecting when he spoke again. “They’ve known you were here the entire time. There is one thing they might not have been counting on, though…”

“And what’s what?”

He smiled. “Me.”


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i imply to mitigate the guilt, we could align  
> a perfectly constructed alibi  
> to hush the violent guilt that eats and never dies  
> in actual blame, they call me once the dark divides

They pulled up to a large, old-looking house on the outskirts of her town. As Petyr directed the car into the driveway it was hard to imagine that this was _his_ home. She’d expected something flashy and modern, something expensive. Instead she found a brick two-story home with a large front porch adorned with a white swinging chair. It was clearly outdated; the lawn cluttered with weeds and stray flowers. The stairway chipped off its faded white paint onto the tall grass below.

 _How odd_. “This is yours?”

He puffed out a laugh. “Not what you were expecting? It’s my parent’s old house. I haven’t had time to get my own place yet.”

“It’s nice,” she decided, giving the property a long glance before stepping out of the car. “It has…character.”

The chief was clearly not as impressed with his living situation. “You know what it has? It has _mold._ ”

Letting her inside it was all the more clear that the house wasn’t his, even with as little as Alayne knew about him. A large brown sofa, longstanding and worn with use, centered the living room. It appeared as though Petyr had cleared out many of the older antiques, piled up in plastic containers and labeled boxes in the dining room. Old floral wallpaper adorned the walls, peeling at an occasional edge. The smell was musty in an almost endearing way.

Petyr nodded to the dining room table. “Do you want to talk here?”

“Yeah, can I use your bathroom first?”

“The shower’s upstairs, if you want one first. Towels are in the cabinet.” She _did_ want a shower. There was still a stickiness between her legs, sweat dried to her brow from both the heat and more than just the heat. “Thanks.”

The lavatory was timeworn as well; the shower clearly built afterward, standing next to an old claw-styled tub. Impatiently grabbing a towel she opened the shower to turn the water on. After figuring out how to adjust the heat, she submerged herself in the stream before the water was hotter than lukewarm. There she stood for several minutes, eyes closed, just standing and thinking.

She felt divided. Alayne and Sansa. One girl wanting to stay anonymous and safe, the other wanting to be brave and vengeful. She already let her judgment slip in the car, but she found herself caring less and less. What she _did_ care about was Jeyne, and whatever connections she had to Arya. If Petyr was willing to help her in that regard, she considered him an ally, however cautiously. A friend even, until he gave her a reason not to be. The scope was bigger, more convoluted than she could have imagined when the girl showed up on her doorstep. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed help.

She reflected for several minutes, mulling over her thoughts and starting to make a plan. Until she heard the bathroom door creak open and shut again. “Petyr?” She questioned, not able to make out the form through the thick glass she was contained in.

“Yeah, it’s just me.”

 _What are you doing in here?_ “Do you need something?” She could see him moving, but not much more than that through the misted entrance.

“I need a shower as well.” She could see that he was pulling his shirt off, next letting his pants fall to the floor.

“Sorry I've been a while...I just kind of zoned out. I’ll be done in a minute,” she replied through the barrier. His boxers were off, she could see only skin coloring to the blurred form, heading toward the shower. _What was he doing?_ The heat rose to her face, unsure of what action to take next.

He opened the door, giving her a smirk as he stepped inside to join her. “Take your time. No rush.”

Not giving her a chance to cover herself, _and she wasn’t sure if she would have anyway,_ he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing her against the back of the enclosed space. His mouth was on hers hungrily as water poured over them both.

She responding, pulling him closer with an urgency she’d only discovered today. Tongues met unprotested and Sansa’s arms came up to either side of his shoulders, beginning to brace against him. _What is it about this man?_ Lifting a leg to wrap around his torso, he groaned in approval.

A loud, long chiming noise crept under the cracked door interrupted them.

The doorbell.

Petyr stopped, pulling away from her, Alayne’s leg falling back to the floor, her arms back to her sides. “Shit…this could be important. No one comes here.” Hastily moving out of the shower he grabbed a towel and ruffled it through his hair. “Dry off, my room’s across the hall. Wait there. Don’t come out until I say.”

Alayne just nodded as he jerked his pants on and headed downstairs.

 

Not in any state to be seen anyway, she toweled herself off and wrapped the cloth around her chest, grabbing her soiled clothes and walking straight ahead into the room across the hallway. She cracked the door a few inches after she secured herself inside, looking down the stairs once, trying to catch Petyr’s eye before he let anyone in the house. From the angle she was afforded, she could just see him buttoning a shirt as he made his way to the door, face expressionless.

She didn’t shut the door entirely, leaving a bit of light to creep into the dark room. Black-out curtains covered the windows, leaving her sunless. Unsure of where the light-switch was perched and unwilling to make any noise, she instead dropped her clothes to the ground and listened through the fraction of brightness, waiting for a second voice to join his. She heard the door open and shut.

 

“Baelish. How’s the south treating you?”

Alayne held her breath. She knew that voice. Oh god, did she know that voice.

 


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bite chunks out of me  
> you're a shark and i'm swimming

“Jaime. Good to see you. It’s a little too humid here for my taste, honestly.” Petyr sounded relaxed, unworried.

Sansa could hear them clearly through the wooden barrier; Jaime Lannister’s voice projected enough to fill the house anyway. No seriousness was heard in either man's tone, she was beginning to entertain the idea that it seemed to be a social call rather than an investigation. She clenched her towel tighter to her chest anyway, armoring herself for whatever came next.

_What was he doing here at the police chief's home?_

“I’d trade it any day for the snow we’re getting right now up there. I’m just not used to it, none of us are. Cersei’s going out of her mind with the cold. You’re lucky you left when you did. I’m up to my neck at the station with car accidents alone from the ice.”

She heard Petyr laugh, a kind of chuckle she didn’t recognize. _It sounded fake._

“What brings you down here? _Vacation?_ ” Sansa could almost hear the smirk on his face when the man asked the question.

“Yeah right. Like any of us get time off. No, it’s business as usual, I’m afraid. Checking inventory and all that. I’ve been on a…short leash recently, with the hand and all.”

 _Inventory?_ Sansa’s eyes widened. Did the enterprise her father worked so hard to shut down extend this far south?

“How is the stump doing?” Another jab from Petyr, and Sansa felt it like a blade to the stomach. He was joking with the man whose family was responsible for slaughter.

She knew Jaime’s hand had been lost in the skirmish, along with her father’s head. Ned Stark and his men thought they had them all cornered and running for their lives, but Ned was wrong. There had been a traitor in her father’s team, someone who let the Lannisters know about the raid. That had given Ned's enemies time to prepare for the attack. When they showed up to the warehouse to make arrests they were ambushed. Her father, brother, their partners, all dead within minutes. Her mother killed later, in their home. Tying up loose ends. 

Sansa was a loose end.

Her knuckles grew white clutching her towel.

As to who the informant was, all signs pointed to Jaime Lannister. A cop, but known for his questionable decision making, especially when it came to his relatives.

“Eh, it’s okay. I have this prosthetic now, which helps. Can’t do any big cases though. How’s the _littlefinger_?”

Littlefinger…the name, a nickname, sounded familiar to the girl. A name her father had mentioned. Or was it her mother after all? She tried to remember. They they going to ask him for something...favor? She could almost remember her mother and father discussing it, arguing about it, right before the raid. “ _Littlefinger will help, he’s an old friend_ ,” Cat had said.

“Has there been a problem with the supply?” Petyr asked, obviously ignoring his tease. He almost seemed disinterested in the topic as Sansa focused back to the conversation.

“Nah, not really. I know that’s not why you’re working down here and I don’t want to bore you with the details. Let’s just say my father doesn’t really like leaving the Boltons in charge of something so important.”

“Afraid things will get messy?” Petyr asked, their voices trailing across the first floor. Alayne guessed they had moved to the kitchen after Petyr offered Jaime a beer.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m off to see them next, just thought I’d drop by and see how you’re doing.” A tab was popped, drinking sounds traveling upward. “Find a new place yet?”

“Still looking. It’s hard when your boys keep giving me work.”

“Look, they’re not _my boys_ and I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle.”

Sansa couldn’t quite make out Petyr’s response as they moved further into the home. A few minutes later she was still standing by the door, too alarmed to do anything else. The men wrapped back around to the living room after a while, dialogue then audible again.

“This place isn’t so bad. Mind if I have a look?”

“Go ahead.” Petyr answered without a pause. Sansa nearly panicked as she heard footsteps pacing around the first floor, Jaime making amused comments about the décor.

_He’s going to come up here next. He'll find me._

Shoes plotted on stairs now, leading up to where she stood.

She thought of hiding, but what if Jaime thought to look in a closet or under the bed to make another snide remark? She had few options, trapped in the room.

Making a decision, Sansa moved quickly. Creeping backward she then flew to the bed, discarding her towel onto the floor, she tumbled onto the mattress and threw the fresh-smelling white sheets over herself as a cover. She tried to remain as silent as possible as the men grew closer. Her back positioned to face the door, she waited. Damp brown hair and bare shoulder blades would be all that was visible to an onlooker.

She settled into a normal breathing pattern just as it was opened, light creeping in from the hall. All that could be seen, she hoped, was the mess of hair and pale skin of a sleeping girl on the bed. Playing the role of a _recent lay_ rather than a girl on the lam. 

“Oh, shit,” came the whisper from behind her. “I didn’t realize you had a _friend_ over, Petyr. You could have said.”

“You didn’t ask.” Petyr quietly replied.

 _You can do this._ While Sansa may not be good at fooling others, Alayne would be up to the task. She forced a yawn from her lungs, turning slightly in bed, arm coming up to hide her eyes from the light (t _o hide her eyes from them, from him, from seeing the blue gaze Jaime might recognize_ ). “Petyr?” Sleepily asked.

“Go back to sleep. My friend was just leaving.” She had no doubt he could play along, relieved that he complied, relieved that he wasn’t selling her out.

Still shielding her face she drowsily continued. “Will you be joining me when he’s gone?” _You have some explaining to do._

“Sure.” he replied, closing the door as the pair exited and left her alone again.

Behind the door she heard another apology from Jaime. Immediately followed by “God, Petyr _, how old is she_?” as they walked back down the steps.

She didn’t move until she was certain the man had left, hearing the sound of his car pulling out of the driveway. Even then she stayed in the room, on the bed. Sitting up, she drew her knees to her chest and took a few deep breaths, reevaluating how much trust she had for the man she found more and more familiar each minute. 


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i will kiss and kiss and kiss your skin  
> beg for you to let me in  
> but oh, sometimes it hurts  
> you pluck my nerves

He reentered the room a few minutes after the Lannister man had left.

“I think we were in the middle of something…” Petyr began unbuttoning his shirt and stepping toward her, staring at the form barely concealed with a sheet, eyes dark.

_He must be joking._

She felt the urge to laugh.

She looked at him incredulously. “Yeah, you were about to tell me why Jaime Lannister was here, and how you know him.” Sitting on the bed still, watching him as he stripped down. His shirt still half-on, he began to unbuckle his belt.

“He was my partner. Before I moved back here.” Casually said, as if it wasn’t important to the girl in front of him.

‘He’s a Lannister. They killed my family. You seem know everything about me, you must know that.” _Their blood is saturating Lannister hands._

“ _He_ didn’t kill them. He lost a hand” Pants falling to the ground, he took a few steps more, his lower half clad only in boxers.

“You know they were going to kill me next, right?”

“But they didn't.” Sitting down on the bed, she could hear the irritation beginning to line his tone.

“Well, considering they know I’m here according to you, we can't rule out that I'm not next."

He sighed. “If they wanted you dead they'd be trying a little harder. You're still breathing, aren’t you? The same can’t be said for your father or brother.” He paused. “Your mother, even.”

Oh. She forgot how much that memory hurt. Her chest ached, constricting the next breath she took. "How do you know he wasn’t a part of it? That I wasn’t next on his list…what if that’s why he’s here now?”

He was close enough now to reach to her, extending a hand to crawl under the sheet and beginning to caress a knee. _How persistent._ Despite herself it felt soothing, warm on her leg. “Because he’s not; I would have known.” Barely a whisper from him as he looked away for a moment, avoiding, before meeting her eyes again. His hand moved further to her thigh, feather-light. She took a deep breath in, enjoying the way his fingers trailed upward.

Even with her frustration, her confusion, she felt herself begin to throb and thaw under his fingers. She wanted to forget anything had happened, forget that the person she’d placed her trust in was being less than honest. She wanted to reach forward and drag him close and not let go.

She was too practical for that now, however. She knew what the price was for being foolish.

She pulled away, dragging her leg far enough that he couldn’t reach her. “So you’re just not going to explain that? Who are the Boltons?”

He stopped as well, pulling back as well and taking a seat at the edge of the bed, irritation shining again through green. “People you shouldn’t go looking for.”

_Why is it so hard to get answers from anyone in this town?_

“Okay, you’re not going to tell me? I thought we were going to be working together on the case?”

“Not on _this._ This is bigger than a missing girl.” He seemed firm on not giving her anything else to go on. “What happened to Jeyne is unfortunate, but if they sent Jaime down here, there’s more to it.”

Staring harshly at the man, hands flying up on either side, clutching the sheet wrapped around her as she stood up. “Then I’ll figure it out on my own.” _I don’t need you._ “If you decide to let me into your little plan, let me know.” With that, she grabbed her clothes from the floor and swiftly exited the house.

 

She wasn’t sure how long of a walk it would be, not completely confident if she even knew the right direction to start walking in anyway. She could call the station and ask for a ride, but she wasn’t sure if that would cause an unwanted spread of gossip. No one else lived out this far, it seemed, so everyone would assume she was fleeing the Baelish household.

Which, really, she was.

She also hesitated to use Lysa, especially with the newfound information she’d learned. _An aunt_. In another life she would be overjoyed to find a relative in her loneliness. The woman worried her, left a sour taste in her mouth. Maybe she could find a common bond with her son, her cousin, but she didn’t think she and the women would ever warm up to each other.

Who else though would be willing to help her?

She could think of only one person.

She had her number, given to her the night of the party. Only two days ago, but it felt like a lifetime. Scrolling to find her name in her phone, she dialed without hesitation.

She had continued walking since the call, wanting to put as much space as possible between herself and the chief. At least 20 minutes had passed, Sansa walking down the one main road by herself, before a compact and shiny blue car pulled up behind her with Myranda at the wheel.

“Lover’s quarrel?” She asked lightly. She must still be close enough for her to connect the dots as to where she was coming from.

“Not exactly, just got lost.” A weak smile, not entirely convincing, was flashed.

Myranda laughed, brushing off her statement lightly with a wave of her hand. “Okay, whatever. We don’t have to talk about it.” Myranda pressed her heeled foot onto the gas pedal as soon as Alayne shut the door and they sped off. “Do you want to go for a drink?”

“No thanks. I think I just want to make it an early night.”

She was tired, wanting nothing more than to go home to Lady and curl up in bed for the night.

“Oh, _come on_! There’s only a few people young enough to have fun out here, quit spoiling my fun.”

Insistence in her voice.

“Fine, one drink.” It didn’t take much convincing; Myranda had helped her out, and she reasoned if she couldn't go to bed she at least needed a drink. Maybe it would be nice to have someone to talk to, as superficial as the conversations might be.

A few minutes of silence passed between the girls as they drove. “He can be a dick, you know. The chief.”

Alayne gave a tired laugh, an attempt to keep the conversation light. Her hands curled to fists unseen by her driver. “I know.”

“Most people really like him here, because he does a lot to help the town, created tons of jobs at the station and everything, but there have always been rumors about him.”

Sansa turned to the girl. “What kind of rumors?”

“Shady dealings from when he was living in the big city up north. He just recently came back, looking like a completely different person. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard-you two are kind of dating, aren’t you?”

“I-I don’t know.” She answered as honestly as possible, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap.

“Well, maybe a few tequila shots will clear your head.”


	16. sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it would be easy, so easy  
> it would be easy to crash.

 

They had to drive to a neighboring town to get to the nearest bar, a small hole-in-the-wall establishment that seemed to cater to both the local youth and the middle-aged crowd looking to unwind after a day of work. Alayne recognized some of the faces from the station, unable to attach any names to them yet. Myranda knew everyone, extending a nod, wave or wink in any direction as she took a seat on a well-worn stool. Alayne chose a perch to the girl’s right just in time for Myranda to order a couple of drinks. Almost instantly presented with a tall glass of light pink liquid looking she cradled it in a hand, planning to nurse the drink rather than gulp as her friend was doing. She remembered what happened the last time she shared drinks with Myranda.

She ended up in bed with a bad man.

More of the fruity beverages came and went, Myranda ordering one after another for herself, occasionally flirting with a passerby, but mainly trying to lighten the girl up. Alayne sipped her drinks, never feeling far from sober as she tried to put on a cheerful face, more for Myranda’s benefit than her own. Contrary to her initial resistance, she found herself being comforted by her new friend. And if she really considered it she was a little jealous as well. Myranda’s life seemed so simple and pleasant. Sansa couldn’t remember a time anymore in which hers was either of those things. She felt as though she stood on a small boat in a large sea, constantly swaying, grasping at the edges frantically so she wouldn't plummet into harsh waters.

Petyr wasn’t mentioned again, not until the hour grew late enough and Myranda grew tipsy enough for them to decide to leave. Alayne volunteered to drive them back to her place for the night, windows down to welcome the warm night breeze, receiving slurred directions from the girl slumped in the passenger seat to get them home.

Alayne was hesitant to bring the topic up, but she supposed Myranda might be drunk enough to not remember subjects breached at this point. The location of the nearest doctor, preferably a gynecologist, to assist her with a form of birth control. She mentioned it casually, not urgent sounding. _But oh, was it urgent._ Myranda looked wryly at her muttered inquiry. “So…you are fucking him. How is it? I've always wondered...”

Answers flitted through her brain. The truth was complicated; mostly because she’d enjoyed it. She settled instead for a lie, mumbling, “it’s…precautionary.”

The passenger fell into a round of inebriated giggles. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop asking. You’re a shitty liar.”

A corner of Alayne’s mouth tilted, a ghost of a smile. _If you knew who I really was you might not be thinking that._

 

Pulling into the drive she was surprised to see brightness behind Lysa’s windows. Someone was still awake there. Dawn wasn’t far away, and she had learned that little Robert and Lysa had relatively early nights. She discovered why the lights were on directly after her musing as the front door to the house flung open, revealing a disgruntled looking woman in her long blue nightgown, barreling toward the car Alayne had just parked in the drive. She was on a rampage, huffing breaths as she made it up to the drunk, and slightly drunk, pair. Sansa’s first thought was to roll the windows up, blocking the woman from what might end up being a blow to her head.

“What the fuck-“ Myranda started to ask before being interrupted by the woman trying to speak through a now-closed window.

“Where exactly were you last night?” Lysa asked, loud enough for them both to hear her through the barrier.

Stilling Myranda with a hand, _don’t get out of the car_ , Alayne opened the door and stepped onto cement, hands up with palms out defensively. When she spoke, she sounded rational, calm compared to the woman. “Lysa, what are you talking about? I was with Myranda.” Sansa felt like a deer facing headlights, unable to move.

A cruel grin formed. “Before that, Alayne. Where were you?” Lysa spoke through clenched teeth, fists formed on either side of her torso.

_Do you mean when I was out fucking Petyr?_

“That isn’t any of your business.” Myranda by now had disregarded her orders, pulled herself out of the vehicle and was hobbling to Alayne’s side.

Lysa chuckled meanly, her head extending inches closer to Alayne’s. “None of my business? Oh, I think it is my business. I spoke to Jaime Lannister earlier, _girl_.”

It was becoming hard to remember who _Alayne_ knew and who _Sansa_ knew. She feigned a confused look. “Who’s Jaime Lannister.” _I’m not supposed to know who that is. Not yet._

A snort from Lysa’s nares. “Oh, you should know exactly who that is. He found you in Petyr Baelish’s bed, you little whore.”

It shouldn’t have shocked her that word had gotten around, shouldn’t have bothered her to be called a whore when she knew she wasn't, _but it did hurt_. Her chest constricted at the words of her only living aunt. Myranda put a hand on her shoulder, either for comfort or perhaps to avoid a drunken stagger. Or maybe to stop Sansa from taking physical action. Silence reigned for a moment, all unsure of how to respond.

When Lysa finally spoke a full minute may have passed. It was quiet, initial rage settling down to something close to hurt. “Do you deny it?”

Alayne had no lie for this woman. “No,” was all she could think to say. She didn't want to lie to family.

She watched as the older woman’s expression fell to a flat affect, fists released and limbs and teeth unclenched. With that, Lysa turned around, briskly returning to her own home, nightgown swishing to and fro, closing the door behind her.

Sansa stood unmoving until she watched the lights of the house turn off and Myranda began to tug her toward to her own residence.


	17. seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chains and bangles were ringing aloud  
> calling out without a sound

The minute she walked through the lawn to her house she knew something was wrong. She couldn’t place it at first, but something was _different;_ out of place. Assessing the entrance, she saw that the spare key she’d placed above the doorframe was where she’d left it _. Okay, good, but why did it feel like someone was watching us?_

She found it difficult to shake the feeling; the presence of someone else. The fight with Petyr, the alcohol directly followed by a confrontation with Lysa all seemed to be taking their toll on her, pressing down on her shoulders. It was making her tired, making her confused and jumpy. Maybe she just needed some rest.

Almost ready to shrug it off as an inebriated paranoia, she realized what it was, what was _off,_ as she walked through the threshold with Myranda in toe, ready to speak. “Alay-“

She paused, putting a finger to her lips to indicate for Myranda to stay quiet. The other girl was quickly sobering up, giving Sansa a single nod, concern on her face.

Currently, it wasn’t a noise that bothered her; it was the _lack of it._

Lady wasn’t barking.

The dog woke up at the slightest noise; she would have heard the heated conversation with her neighbor, or at least the car pulling up to the drive across the way. On any day she waited at the door for Sansa just as she walked inside. Lady was her protector, always watching, always with her.

She _always_ barked, and at the moment she wasn’t making any sound at all, she wasn't there waiting for her. Sansa felt her body go rigid. Her lungs stopped functioning, constricting inside of her ribcage. Breathing was impossible for several seconds while panic began to seep into her.

Senses now on edge, she listened for other sounds indicating anything else amiss. Nothing coming from further inside the house, no lights that she could visualize. Her purse was probably still sitting inside of Petyr’s hallway, along with anything she could use against an unwelcome guest. For a second, she thought of calling the man, or calling the police, dismissing it just as quickly _. Maybe there’s no one inside, maybe Lady’s just sleeping. I'm probably overreacting.  
_

Myranda, still behind her, seemed to be connecting Sansa’s worry to a possible invader. She beckoned her with a shoulder's touch, and presented Sansa with a small can of mace from her key-ring. She clenched it in hand, finger on the spray button, making her way from the empty living room and into the adjacent kitchen.

A stranger met them there.

She didn’t know how long he’d been sitting in the kitchen. It could have been all day, or at least right after they’d left the Poole’s home, or he could have only just arrived. At first she thought it might be Jaime Lannister, recognizing her after all, but this form was smaller in frame, thinner. Even in the shadows she could tell. He was unmoving, staring at them with the whites of his eyes wide and bright in the darkness.

“What are you doing here?” Quietly asked as she stepped closer.

“You don’t get her.” The boy said from his perch on the kitchen counter. He kicked the heels of his shoes against the cabinets under him, creating a slow thumping rhythm. “You nosey woman, shoving it where it doesn’t belong.”

_So they found out about us going to see her family._

“Who are you?” Alayne asked, inching closer to the cabinet at her right. _A Bolton? One of the ones Petyr warned me about?_

“Stop moving or I’ll cut you. Maybe I’ll start with that nose of yours. Maybe I’ll finish off your mutt.” Still thumping, the tempo quickened, as steady as a heartbeat, but much slower than hers.

Her stomach dropped. _Finish off?_ “Where’s Lady?”

“Is that the dog’s name? Don’t know how much of a lady she is now. She has lots of holes in her.”

_Not Lady too._

She put her hands up, palms out toward the intruder, taking another step forward, still not close enough to spray him. Maybe he was bluffing about Lady, maybe she could reason with him. “What do you want?”

“I want you to leave her alone. She doesn’t need you.”

“Are you talking about the girl? About Jeyne?” Another step forward and she could visualize a knife in his hand, small and clearly used. She could see the outline of blood on the edges. _Lady…_

She wanted to vomit.

She wanted to kill him.

“Yes. Forget about her. Forget or I’ll make you very sorry.” He dropped the knife on to the counter-top with a dull clang and hopped off without warning, taking a long stride to her. Startled, the pepper spray was lifted and the button pressed in his direction. Just as she pushed, he swatted, deflecting the bulk of the spray as the can toppled to the floor. She tried to bolt, but he had her arms then, grabbing, holding her close, preventing her from pulling away as hard as she yanked. He was small but strong, combating her desperate movements with force. Kicking, thrashing doing no harm to anyone but herself as she fought. Heaving breaths expelled from clenched teeth mixed with the grunts that came with exertion.

She turned her head as she struggled, looking to Myranda for help, but she was gone. How long had it taken for her to decide to abandon the situation? Did Sansa even blame her? Not really. She had no part in this; she was drunk and probably terrified. _I might have done the same, if I were her._

“Feisty, eh?” The man mocked her, effortlessly keeping her contained. “Maybe I’ll take you back with me. We can _train_ you, teach you not to squirm.”


	18. eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and one of these days,  
> i pray it will be sometime soon  
> on a day like today,  
> you'd be crazy not to want me to teach you the way

She heard her before she saw her.

The friend she thought she’d lost.

Barking from one room over, mass of red-stained fur racing toward the struggling girl and her captor, teeth bared and ready to _chew_. Even still fighting with the man she felt relieved; her dog wasn’t dead. She could hear her growling, see her rushing toward them, feel the brush of her against a leg in motion as she targeted the man holding her owner.

The was no chance for him to win against two of them, she could see the realization in his eyes as she turned in his hold. He didn’t notice her movement; too distracted by Lady sinking teeth into the soft flesh of his leg. He cried out, kicking at the dog with the unrelenting jaw, thin streams of blood beginning to slide down his shin with the exacerbation. His hold on her was slipping.

Unsure of how long Lady would be able to keep him occupied, Sansa saw her chance and took it. She forced the heel of her foot into his free leg, directly to his knee, knocking him against the cabinet and onto the floor with a dull thud, his occiput making contact with the small wooden doors. It only gave her a few seconds to think, catching her heaving breaths and looking around with panicked eyes for some weapon to use.

But there wasn’t enough time; he was up just as quickly as he’d fallen. A blow to the dog’s ear with the palm of his hand released the Lady’s hold on him, Lady forced backward with a yelp. He scrambled across the hard floor he’d just stood up from and into the living room toward the door. Sansa gave chase, Lady on her trail, reaching into the nearest drawer and yanking a knife from the clutter, following the path he’d taken through the doorway and onto the driveway. This man had answers about Jeyne, and he was wounded. Her chances of getting a response from him were greatly improved, and the thought of a missed opportunity trumped the fear she had for her own safety. A passing blur of a thought as she hastened; _would her old self, Sansa, who had a family and friends, do the same? Risk her own life to help someone else?_ She wondered, unsure of the answer.

She halted when she surveyed the scene in front of her, stunned for an instant by what she saw.

Petyr was there, in the same attire he had been wearing earlier, holding the man down on the ground. His knee dug into the intruder’s spine as he held him prone, pulling handcuffs out and attaching them to the man’s frantic wrists. He was too busy talking to the man to notice her, still several feet away.

“You had orders not to come here.” Petyr said quietly, teeth grinding in the effort he was expelling to keep him down.

“The plan changed.” He man gave a grin upward to Petyr, his eyes travelling to the girl. Petyr followed the man’s gaze, scanning her from head to toe in an assessment.

“What orders?” Sansa demanded; the man was cuffed and secured. They had a few minutes to spare, she assumed, before backup arrived. Lady limped next to her, keeping near, damp fur grazing her knee, but growling at the man on the cement.

“Are you alright?” Her question blatantly ignored.

“I am. My dog needs a vet.” The wounds didn’t look life-threatening, she could see them better in the moonlight, but as soon as her driveway was cleared she would load Lady into the car and get her cared for. “What orders, Petyr?”

“Oooh. _Petyr._ ” The man underneath him cackled. “She don’t know you yet, Littlefinger.” Another laugh. Petyr’s knee sunk deeper into his backbone, drawing a pained groan.

“I think I’m getting to know him quite well, thanks.” She said, staring the chief down. He was not to be relied on, she knew that, He had just apprehended her intruder, that much was true, but useful and trustworthy were words that were spreading further apart for her.

The rest of the team arrived then, men in uniform piling out to relieve Petyr of his catch. The intruder didn’t say a word as he was handed off and pressed into the police car, just giving her a knowing smile as the vehicle pulled away. Alayne knew the interrogation would probably prove fruitless; those types of men would good at keeping their mouths shut when it came to cops. Regardless of his departure, policemen still surrounded her home, surveying the inside and taking photos.

And Petyr was still there, talking to one of the responders. For a moment she just stared at him, thinking of all of the questions she had for him, the answers she would demand. As soon as he caught her looking he excused himself and hurried over to her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. She stood stunned for a moment, hands awkwardly at her side, until she remembered they were still playing their roles. A few bystanders had come, beckoned by the flashing lights and sirens. They were watching her in his arms, waiting to see just how shaken up she was. And she _was_ unsettled, even if she tried to convince herself otherwise. Someone had broken in, hurt her dog, tried to hurt her. And she would accept the offered comfort, however simulated it was. Her elbows flexed, hands moving upward to reciprocate the hold.

“Alayne.” Words muttered into her ear, a kiss placed directly below. She could feel a slight tingling lingering there, the small amount of moisture chilled by the air. Despite her divided feelings and her hesitance to trust the man, she felt more grounded with his arms encircling her.

She pulled away enough to be able to see his face. “How did you know?”

“Myranda called me. She said she was sorry.”

Sansa still couldn’t find any anger for her, glad she had at least called someone in warning. Her hold tightened, enjoying his warmth for one more moment, somehow more tolerable than the humid heat around them. After she broke free she would demand a ride to get Lady the assistance she needed. She reasoned that a car ride alone with the man would be sure to produce answers.


	19. nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can't bend your crooked arms or fold your punctured proof,  
> the air is growing cold and there's nothing you can do.

Petyr grabbed a fraying blanket from his trunk and tossed it into the back seat, beckoning Sansa to guide Lady in. His phone was cradled between jaw and shoulder, speaking with a veterinarian not too far away, _an old friend,_ he had said. She gently guided her wounded animal onto the cloth, surveying the damage again before closing the door.

She sat herself in the passenger seat just as the man ended his phone call and dropped into the car as well. “He’ll meet us at the clinic.”

The first few minutes were quiet, Petyr occasionally running a hand through his hair with a sigh. Sansa was still wired; fidgeting in her seat and picking at her fingernails.  _Lady could have died._ I _could have died._ The entire purpose of the move, the relocation and the hair dye and the name change, had all been to avoid her family’s fate. And now her dog had become an unnecessary victim in a battle she wasn't prepared to fight.

She lingered somewhere between wanting to laugh and wanting to sob. _Maybe there was no escape._

Petyr, surprisingly, was the first to speak. “The man who tried to attack you tonight works for the Boltons.”

“You never told me who they were.” She spoke quietly; Lady was sleeping in the backseat.

“The Boltons are a family from the north. They’re running a fairly large operation for the Lannisters down here.” He glanced over to her for a second before his eyes returned to the road. “They have a reputation for mutilating their enemies, Sansa.”

It still made no sense. “So why did they want to kill me?”

“Jeyne, probably, because she came to you, they might be worried she told you something she shouldn’t have. They’re using her for something, I’m sure of it. Otherwise they wouldn’t have taken her again." A pause. "They could also be using you to get to me.”

“Because you’re working for the Lannisters, aren’t you?” The words were barely a whisper. _What an idiot. How did I not see that before? “_ The cozy chief job, your friendship with Jaime, how you knew about me….”

“You’re half right.” A tilt of the mouth while his eyes still watched the road ahead. “They _think_ I’m working for them.”

“Who do you work for, then? The Boltons?”

He laughed. “No, no. I don’t work for anyone, Sansa. Remember that.”

Eyes narrowed at the man. “Why should I believe you?”

He shrugged, his manner relaxed. “You shouldn’t. But it’s the truth.”

She didn’t think she could ever trust him, certainly not now that she knew he was a Lannister man. But he had helped her and part of her was grateful, despite everything she’d learned. And he was answering her questions. “So what’s your plan, then?”

“They want to move the entire operation down here, where it’s safer. After your father died there have been nothing but inquiries into their factories; they need to relocate. The Boltons keep resisting, trying to break off from the Lannisters. That’s why Jaime’s here…to try and level with them.”

“So-“

“Enough.” Petyr put up a dismissive hand. “The less you know the better.”

She persisted anyway, worried he wouldn't be so cooperative in the future. “What’s your plan in all of this? You made it seem like you’d help me.”

The veterinary clinic was in view as Petyr let out another sigh. “What do you think I’ve been doing? I _am_ helping you.”

Before she could answer they were interrupted by a tired looking man waving them toward the small clinic. Balding and older in appearance, he hastily help Sansa guide the dog inside and onto one of the examination tables. The man cleaned her, inspected the injuries, and declared that she would be fine after some stitching and a few day’s stay for observation.

They remained for hours, helping to hold Lady while the man skillfully sewed the marred skin. Tears threatened each time a new injection of Lidocaine was needed and Lady yelped anew. It was Sansa’s fault, after all, that the dog was injured in the first place.

Sansa refused to leave even after the wounds were repaired and her friend was resting peacefully, until the veterinarian insisted she get some rest and that her _color was off_. Petyr guided her away and into the car then, letting her doze on the ride back into their town.

 

When the car stopped she snapped her eyes open, glancing up to see they weren’t at her house, but his. She gave him a questioning stare.

“It’s not safe for you at your house, especially without your dog to protect you.” He said it simply, no humor in his voice this time.

She didn’t protest; she didn’t want to be alone tonight.

Inside his home she kicked off her shoes, he followed suit just behind her. “You can take the spare room up the stairs and at the end of the hall, if you’d like.”

She turned to look at him. His clothing, like hers, was covered in blood from holding Lady down. His hair was in disarray from the struggle earlier, but he still managed to maintain an unaffected air. For a moment they both stared at each other. Her mind drifted to the fight again, to Lady and whether she was resting well, to Petyr sleeping next to her in her bed, to the shower and to his hands all over her. She was divided again, wanting to hate him and wanting to be near to him. “Your shirt…”

“It's not my only one." A hint of humor was there.

She moved toward him, arms rising to his collar, fingers reaching for the top button, unfastening. His own hands reached out then, halting her gently. “You’ve had a long day, Sansa.” She ignored him, digits moving to the next button, and the next until his shirt was open. His arms fell to his sides, watching her as she looked at his chest.

A long, ragged scar ran down his torso, dividing left from right. She traced a finger down the path, looking at him curiously. He shook his head, eyes not leaving hers. How had she not noticed it in the shower?

Petyr moved away then, shoulder angling to avoid any further contact with her, as he made his way toward his bedroom alone.


	20. twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and who wants weak desires waiting for them in the wings  
> after years of leathering your scars

“We’ll need to go soon.” His voice spoke from behind her. Eyes creaked open, fatigue and confusion conflicting in her mind. _Where am I?_ Glancing forward, scanning the window in front of her. _Petyr’s guestroom_. Memories foggy from sleep slowly became lucid. _I was attacked last night, my dog was hurt and I saw a scar._

She turned in the bed to face him, still keeping herself covered with a warm sheet, shoulder exposed. She’d removed her stained shirt and pants, sleeping only in bra and underwear. One elbow propped on the bed kept her head up as she struggled to get her bearings. “Go where?”

He extended his hand, cell phone cradled between palm and fingers. “Jaime just called. He’s bringing more of his people down here.” He took a seat next to her on the bed, eyes never leaving hers. He was dressed already, clad in grey cotton top and jeans. Clearly he wasn’t going to work today. “There’s going to be a takeover soon, maybe a few days. We need to get this done before that happens. Otherwise you’re not getting Jeyne back.”

Clearly she wasn’t working either; she hadn’t ever started her job, not really. Her eyes narrowed, looking up to him. “Get what done?” He’d answered so many questions the night before but she still felt constantly in the dark, scrambling to put together the pieces. Sometimes she wondered if he did it on purpose, forcing her to figure things out on her own.

“I have a few men on the inside of the Bolton operation. When I say the word, it’ll all be rubble.”

 _And the Lannisters will be scrambling to recover, leaving them vulnerable._ Still, the casual way he spoke was somewhat disconcerting to the girl. Her eyes remained locked to his. “What’s in it for you?”

He inched closer, dropping the phone on the bed and placing his hand gently on her shoulder. The thrill in his eyes was unmistakable, even as his demeanor remained calm. “Well, that depends on you.”

“Me?”

He leaned in further. “You wanted them to pay. Here’s your chance. The Lannisters will be preoccupied staving off their other enemies after the crack in their armor widens. Wait until it dies down…you could run the show, if you cared to.”

 _If I cared to_. She looked away from his ambitious, widened eyes. _Don’t you know I never wanted it?_ Words she wanted to scream at him. Her father, her brother, they were the ones fit to run an operation so large, not the selfish, naïve Stark girl who ran away from her problems rather than facing them. “I went into social work and not business for a reason, Petyr.” But even as she spoke the idea of taking something precious from the ones who stole her life was more tempting than she’d like to admit. The appeal of it burned at the edges of her mind, searing inward.

He must have seen the look, the lure of it, in her eyes because a wry smile formed on his lips as they moved in closer still toward her own. She met him, if only to distract herself from her racing thoughts, mouths connecting and opening while she was guided backward onto the bed. _He wants a cut, he wants more power_ , she thought to herself as the sheet was pulled down, her underwear with it, leaving her nearly bare. She’d learned a great deal of lessons from growing up in such a dangerous world. No gift, no assistance, no seeming act of kindness was ever really free.

_What was his price?_

Her hands moved to the edges of his shirt, eyes meeting his, questioning. What had changed between the night and morning that he was reciprocating touches and kisses instead of turning away? His arms lifted in acquiescence, allowing her to guide his shirt off. He quickly, too quickly for her to glimpse the scar again, pressed himself to her form. Their chests meet roughly, his open mouth pressing against the curve in her pale neck while his hand moved under her bra to cup a breast, caressing until her nipple grew firm and a quiet moan escaped her lips.

 _God_ , she throbbed now; her skin tingled and burned as her fingers urgently, clumsily, moved to his zipper. Jeans were pushed down just enough to reach into cotton underwear and lightly grasp him, guide his hardened cock near her entrance as a leg wrapped itself around his waist.

Without hesitation he pressed into her slowly until they were flush against each other, a groan into her neck causing her to grab onto his shoulders and ankles to link at this torso. A slow pace began but didn’t last, each of them instead working greedily; Sansa bucking up to meet every thrust he gave.

“You can watch them all burn, you know.” Petyr murmured into her ear between harsh breaths.

She was getting close, having found the right pace and tilt to rub right where she needed, thighs tightened around him in a frustrated chase. “And you’ll…you’ll want to be there as well?”

He pulled back for a second, still angling into her as his eyes met hers and she found her answer there. Green hues were ablaze, a way he must have concealed from everyone else, but he displayed them now for her. She was sure now that this plan had been brewing for much longer than her stay in the town. _He was the hidden danger; the threat the Lannisters never knew existed._

Despite herself, it was the thought of watching an empire crumble under her fingers that undid her. A word on her tongue expelled as her toes curled and body tensed. _Not his name, but a contract signed nonetheless._

_“Yes.”_


	21. twenty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slow down, it's a science  
> he's been waiting to bring you down  
> snake eye with a slight smile  
> who can hold you and shake you dry.

The car she sat in was a pale green and much older than she was. The dust it had been covered with had slowly floated off as he pressed lightly on the gas pedal to drive down the winding roads to their goal. A gravel driveway could be seen ahead, dogs attached to chains barking a fierce greeting to them. Her only job, _her only goal_ , was to find Jeyne and get her out of the building.  It was the only thing that mattered to her.

  
There hadn’t been much said between the two, and once the plan was made there had been no words at all. She found the quiet uncomfortable, unsettling, while they sat together in the vehicle. “They tried to marry me off, did you know that?” She didn’t know what made her say it. Maybe it was just an attempt to break the nervous silence. When he didn’t answer her she continued anyway. “To Tyrion, Cersei’s brother. They called it mercy, and maybe it was; he was the only one with any sort of decency.” Her hands were loosely intertwined on her lap, a nervous habit from when she was a child.

  
“I didn’t know.” He said quietly, not making eye contact, one hand clasped around the worn steering wheel as they slowed to a stop in front of the building.  
 _Yes, you did._ She was learning that the man seemed to know a great deal more than he let on. “But he was a small man. He wouldn’t have been able to stop Joffrey. No one stood up to him, not even his mother. I tried to fight, at first. It just made him more…eager.” She flicked her head to the side, banishing those thoughts from her head.  
He turned to her then after the car was parked, taking her chin in his hand, eyes meeting. “Joffrey can be dealt with. _Will_ be dealt with.” Petyr said with a finality that she couldn’t seem to argue with.

  
She didn’t notice the stranger until he was practically on top of the car, peering down into the opened window, a hand resting on the door. “Littlefinger. Haven’t seen you down here in a while.” The man clearly didn’t have a soft spot for Petyr, eyes narrowed and skeptical.

  
His voice was more than cordial when he spoke up toward the man, a friendly smile on his face. _A fine, upstanding neighborhood police officer at your service._ “Just stopping by to warn you that Jaime’s here. And he’s brought some of his _friends_.”

  
“Yeah, we got word about an hour ago. We’re ready. Some of our cargo’s been moved, just in case.” The man turned his head to spit onto the ground.

  
“Oh, I doubt it will come to all that.” Petyr nodded to her. “Can she use your bathroom, by the way?”

  
The man nodded behind him, to the screened-in door. “Sure, just in there on the right.”

  
She hopped out quickly, making her way inside while Petyr spoke in hushed tones to the man.

  
 _On the right._ Petyr had been told by his informants that Jeyne was in the opposite direction, and so when the hall split off she headed left, clutching the familiar can of mace in the pocket of her jeans.

  
Three doors were ahead of her, all ajar. Creeping down the walkway she pulled her only protection out, finger on the SPRAY button. Petyr had told her bringing a gun would only make them more eager to use theirs.

  
As it turned out, she didn’t need it. Each room she peered into, prepared to fight, was empty. The last one, while opened, had a bolted lock attached to it, a strong one; the kind for keeping people _inside_. The room was recently used, a sleeping bag and food wrappers littered the floor. _This must be where they kept her._ Her chest constricted, thinking of how alone the girl must have felt, how hopeless.

  
But where was she now?

  
They were still close together when she stepped back outside. Petyr looked over to her, and she gave a quick shake of the head in his direction, mouthing the word _gone_. He turned back to the man, bringing a hand up to his face in frustration. “Did you move the girl as well?”

  
He seemed taken aback by Petyr’s question. “The girl? How did you know about that?”

  
“I’m _police_ , for fuck’s sake. Of course I know. Is she gone?”

  
“We moved her yesterday. Ramsay took her.” The man stammered in his answer, unsure of what to say.

  
“Where did they go?”

  
“Can’t say for sure. Roose is inside if you want to talk to him about it.”

  
 _And that was all they needed to know._ Petyr sighed, bringing his hand down to reach into his pocket and grabbing out his phone. He looked over to Sansa. “Get in the car. We’re going.” He brought the mobile up to his ear, speaking to the man in front of him first. “I really wish you hadn’t moved her.”

  
Sansa took a seat again, fastening her belt as she hear him talking. The receiver must have picked up, because Petyr then focused his attention on the phone. “Hey, it’s me. Blow it up.”  
Petyr ignored the man following behind him as he jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the car and coasting out of the parking lot in one fluid motion. He followed after them for a few seconds, speeding up to a clumsy jog, but gave up quickly.

  
 _Not a moment too soon_ , Sansa thought as she heard the first rumblings of the explosion behind her.  
  
  



	22. twenty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whatever makes you tick  
> is what makes me crawl.  
> through the mud, the blood and the mammaries  
> and the worst of it all.

Time wasn’t a problem anymore.

  
He could see the smoke clouding the obliterated building from four towns away, filling the reflection of this rear-view mirror as they continued to drive. The Lannisters were going to take a painful loss on product, and the Boltons weren't in any position to rebel now, but they still had their _friends_. He could smell the unrest starting, he could taste it.

  
And he had her as well. She sat quietly, reflectively, next to him. Was she counting in her head the number of casualties? Had she given it any thought beforehand? No, certainly not. Otherwise she would have fought him on it.

  
So young… _so naive_. It would be easier that way.

  
She cleared her throat, barely heard above the old car’s murmuring engine. “Petyr. We have to find her.” The first words to pass through her lips since they returned to the car to outrun the devastation. Of course. _The girl._ For her, right now, it was all about the girl. Petyr could have laughed. It was never about poor little Jeyne Poole. _It never would be._

Blinders on, Sansa wasn’t able to see the bigger picture. But he’d teach her; _s_ _he was worth teaching._

  
He stole a glimpse of her braided auburn hair, the same shade her mother wore. He’d be lying if he told himself that wasn’t what initiated his plan, catching a view of her walking with her father down a busy street what seemed like years ago. Ned Stark was a dead man either way, _but Sansa Stark_ …she could be spared. A much smoother transition, he’d reasoned, if one of their own took over after the unforgiving Lannisters.

  
Calls, favors, suggestions and whispers led her somewhere safe, a temporary relocation.

  
She would never know the part he played in it. That would be the secret he kept, even if all others were uncovered. No one was left alive to tell her.

  
His hand tightened on the wheel for an instant, before loosening again. “We’ll find her.” Not a complete lie. Truthfully, _they might_ , but he doubted it. Still, they could search, town to town, for hints of the Bolton son and his plaything. In the end, they were just biding time until the moment was right, until they could return to the city and Sansa could take what was hers.

_Theirs._

  
She would need someone she could trust to assist her, _to facilitate the transition_ , wouldn’t she?


End file.
